


Winter in the City

by relativestranger



Category: Free!
Genre: Because They’re Super Important, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Introspection, M/M, MakoHaru in Tokyo, Post-Canon, Post-Free! Eternal Summer, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Very Frank Discussions About Sex, harumako, makoharu - Freeform, makoharu fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 103,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8166542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relativestranger/pseuds/relativestranger
Summary: It's a long, bitter winter. What better time is there to flip everything you know about your best friend on its head? But it’s fine. Everything’s fine. Perfectly fine.





	1. When's the Last Time You Showered?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto winces. It’s not much of an explanation and it’s even worse as a defense but he and Haruka isn’t something that can be explained in words. They just... are. That’s how it’s always been with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m backkkkk! Oh, ye gods, I’m back. With a brand spanking new universe! Special thanks once again to everyone who dropped some love and encouragement in my previous fics! You guys have been great putting up with me. I hope you enjoy this universe as much as that one.
> 
> This fandom will be the death of me. Send help.
> 
> This is a MakoHaru fic. Don’t be deceived by the lack of Haru here. He’ll show himself soon enough. And since this is a MakoHaru fic and because I’m me, there will probably be smut. It’ll be a great time.

He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes; the harsh flickering of the fluorescent lights irritating his already tired eyes. The low chattering and constant shuffling of feet and paper from every conceivable direction reaches his ears but that’s not what distracts him right now. Leaning listlessly against his elbow, he twirls his pencil between his fingers, the eraser end tapping rhythmically against the blank page of his notebook. He re-reads the passage —  _yet again_ — for the third time. He tries blinking at it but to no avail.

Frustrated, he scowls, baring his teeth at the textbook as if it committed a grave injustice against him. He’s reading it — he clearly reads the words being strung together but he isn’t _reading_ it. They’re just, well, _words_ strung together. Words that have no meaning to him. Words that begin to blur together and form black blobs.

Infuriatingly, he’s having problems absorbing this particular concept. It’s not as if it’s a particularly difficult concept to grasp but he _is_ distracted, his mind wandering, and his concentration shot to hell. Tossing his glasses to the side, he face plants atop the glossy pages. Keeping his voice low, as to not disturb his fellow university students, he growls in annoyance.

The slow, thunderous ticking of the clock echoes in his ears as the seconds agonizingly go by. He can hear it taunting him: _you're wasting your time, you're wasting your time, you're wasting your time_. After several calming breaths and exasperated sigh, he notices a shadow looming over him. Peeking down, a familiar pair of scuffed up leather shoes fill his field of vision.

The shadow’s low, gruff voice seemingly booms, cracking through the silence of the library. “How’d I know I’d find you here?”

Makoto turns his head at the voice. He wishes he could muster up some enthusiasm at seeing his friend but he’s just so, so tired and so, so over it. “Why were you looking for me?”

Sousuke crosses his arms, his hip leaning against the table. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in a few days. I got worried.”

He turns back to the tables and mumbles into well-worn wood table, “I’m fine.”

The former butterfly swimmer snorts in disbelief. “Is that why you’re squirreled at the uni library?”

“I’m studying.” He shrugs indifferently.

Because he is. He might be having concentration issues but it’s still not _**in**_ accurate.

Sousuke scoffs. “You’re just lonely,” he correctly concludes.

He sits up quickly, the old, wood chair groaning under the force of his movement and weight. “I am not,” he denies hotly.

“And when does Nanase come back?”

His answer is instantaneous. “Beginning of next week.” Sousuke’s thin lips curl up into a smirk and his face burns up in indignation. “Shut up.” Makoto fidgets in his seat, pushing the textbook away. He waves his pencil in the air menacingly. “What kind of swim meet takes place in _December_ anyway?”

Sousuke’s brows arch up to his hairline, his teal eyes twinkling in unvoiced amusement. He snatches the pencil from his precarious grip and taps Makoto on the head. “The kind that has a temperature controlled indoor pool? Besides, it’s not so much of an official swim meet as it is a scoping-out-the-competition type thing.”

Makoto slumps down against the chair and pouts in annoyance, “Oh sure, take _his_ side.”

With a playful, but exaggerated, roll of the eyes, Sousuke scoffs. “As if I would ever. There are no sides. Stop being a doofus.” Sousuke pulls out the seat next to him and drops onto the chair. He eyes him wearily, nudging his knee with an errant foot before admonishing him, “Makoto, you look like a disaster. When’s the last time you showered? Or slept? Or ate?”

A set of bemused greens grins at Sousuke’s unusual sign of concern. “This morning, _mom_.”

Sousuke scowls at his snark, “Watch it. Don’t think I won’t call your actual mother and tell her that her son is being a dick.” Sousuke leans forward, takes a big whiff at him, and scrunches his nose at the scent, “Doesn’t smell like it.”

He shoves his face away, “Don’t _smell_ me!” He pulls his collar up to his nose as discreetly as he can but doesn't find anything offensive about his odor. “Personal space, Sousuke,” he scowls petulantly.

Amused, Sousuke snorts. “I didn’t know you knew what personal space even is. At least, you and Nanase certainly have a difficult time with the concept.”

He frowns, furrowing his brows. They’re not _that_ bad. Are they? Sure, if they’re not at school or practice or swim meets and the like, they’re most likely together but really, it’s not like they're attached to the hip. Not anymore, anyway. And certainly not during the last two years. Really, he doesn’t need to defend he and Haruka's closeness but his mouth is already doing so before he can stop it.

“Haru is… He’s _Haru_!”

Makoto winces. It’s not much of an explanation and it’s even _worse_ as a defense but he and Haruka isn’t something that can be explained in words. They just... _**are**_. That’s how it’s always been with them. Besides, Haruka hasn't complained and he certainly finds no issue with it so he sees no problem in continuing on.

Sousuke rises to his feet abruptly, startling Makoto. He jerks his head toward the exit, “Let’s go. I’m taking you home. You’re taking a shower. I’ll make you a healthy dinner that you’ll eat and then you’re going to sleep for at least six hours.”

He looks up at him incredulously, “Sousuke! I’m not a child! I’m a grown adult!”

“Yeah, a grown adult that doesn’t know how to cook a healthy meal. A grown adult that doesn’t know how to manage his time. A grown adult that doesn’t know how to get at least six hours of sleep. A grown adult that—”

“Okay, okay! I get it!” He didn’t have to be so mean about it. “But I mean, I’m busy.”

Sousuke crosses his arms and glowers at him sternly, “We’re _all_ busy, Makoto. We all have school and extracurriculars. That doesn’t mean we neglect our mental and physical health.”

“But this stuff comes easy for you and Haru… You can cook and don’t have any academic problems. I can’t afford to ease off.”

Sousuke leans over the table, bearing his weight on his arms, “Makoto, _you_ don’t have any academic problems. You just _think_ you do because you’re a worrier. Stop worrying. It’s excessive and unnecessary. I’ve seen you go over your notes two, three times and you know this stuff. You get it. But instead, you insist on reading it over and over again. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re in the top 20% of your class. Trust me when I say six hours of sleep — or _gasp_ , even eight hours of sleep won’t do anything to disrupt that. Now get off your ass because we’re going home.”

“Look, I appreciate this, Sousuke, but—”

Sousuke huffs roughly, slapping his palm down on the table to interrupt his protests, “I swear to god, Makoto, if you say you’re fine one more time, I’m carrying you out of here.”

He has no doubt that Sousuke would do something like that. And he’s more than capable. Well, save the bum shoulder.  
He quickly slams shut his textbook. And after straightening the stray notes, he shoves it into his backpack, snagging his glasses along the way. But he makes sure that his annoyance is well known by scowling at him.

He whips past Sousuke, squeezing his unwieldy frame between the table and Sousuke's even _more_ unwieldy frame, and stomping toward the exit all while pulling his coat on a bit rougher than was necessary. Sousuke rolls his eyes at the melodramatics and follows him out but he quickly takes the lead with his long strides.

The snowfall from earlier in the day finally stopped sometime after lunch, leaving behind watery, gray tracks across campus; the herd of students rushing to and from turning the would-be pristine snow into streaks of muddy slush. They quickly make their way off campus toward the train station — paying no heed to the dirty slosh splattering over their boots. Sousuke not so subtly glances over at Makoto every so often, keeping a keen eye on him just in case he wanders of. As if he were his self-appointed babysitter. He’s not a child for Iwatobi-chan’s sake. He isn't going to run away. He doesn’t need to stick so close.

He hunches his shoulders, kicking a pebble as they walk, still a little sour about the whole situation.

“You’re turning into Nanase. Stop sulking.”

“I’m not sulking!” He denies but is well aware that, yes, he is in fact sulking. Which is, admittedly, very unlike him.

“I’m doing this for your own good. Move it.”

The train screeches loudly, the brakes grinding against the steel rails as it comes to a stop. He feels an oncoming headache when the spine-tingling squealing reaches his ears, making him wince in discomfort. Sousuke ushers them in but it's rush hour, packed from door to door with no seats available. They squeeze past the other commuters to stand by the door on the opposite side of the car for a quick exit in four stops.

His hand tightens around his strap, hiking it up his shoulder. “You know, you really don’t have to do this, Sousuke.”

Sousuke glances quickly at him and smirks, “I know I don’t _have_ to do anything. But this is happening so stop trying to get rid of me.”

He purses his lips and tries again, “You’ve already got me going home. I’ll be fine.”

Sousuke folds his arms, his broad chest and shoulders unfurling as he stands at his full height. And width. He’s clearly going for intimidation but it falls a bit flat since they’re essentially the same build — the extra two centimeters fails to scare him.  
“And what about dinner? If I leave you alone and you’ll run off to 7-Eleven for an onigiri or worse, cup noodles. I don't think so. Not happening.”

He huffs, annoyed at the accuracy of that statement. “Yeah, well, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t have anything in my kitchen.”

Sousuke huffs in amusement, “Yeah, no shit. We’ll stop by the corner store on the way.”

“Why are you so determined to feed me?”

“Because you do a shitty job at taking care of yourself!” Sousuke finally snaps. He takes a deep breath; his exhale sounding contrite at his outburst. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with having onigiri and cup noodles. _In principle_. But you can’t possibly have 200¥ onigiri and cup noodles _**all**_ the time.”

He grins slyly at Sousuke, “You sound like Haru.”

Unimpressed with the comparison, Sousuke scowls, “Oh great, just what I always wanted to hear.” He’s not really upset though, overplaying his hand with a dismissive shrug. “Whatever. He isn’t wrong.”

He snuggles deeper into his knit scarf, bracing for the cold in two more stops, “You know, I’m not _totally_ incapable…”

Sousuke sighs and flexes his fingers curled around the cold, metal pole, “I know you’re not. But you get so caught up in the minutiae of uni life. And I get it. I do. But you really do have to do a better job at taking care of yourself. And since you can’t subsist on 7-Eleven for all of time  _and_ since Nanase isn’t here _and_ since you're a shit cook, I’ll take care of it.” There’s a long pause as a grimacing look — somewhat reminiscent of constipation — passes over his face before his eyes and lines on his face soften considerably. “You’re a friend Makoto. And I… Tell anyone this, and I’ll kill you in your sleep. I care, okay? You’ve been a really good friend. I have classmates that don’t last two weeks in some courses and I don’t want to see you burn out like the rest of those guys.”

Makoto bites his lip. For all his scowling and grumbling, Sousuke is a really good guy. He’d blow a gasket if he says it out loud but he’ll deal with it. He gives Sousuke a wry grin, “Thanks, Sousuke. You’re a good friend too.”

The train finally pulls into their station and the softness in Sousuke’s features melt away as he clears his throat and the usual hardened glower returns. “Shut up and get out.”

They quickly trudge to the corner market, stomping their feet on the mat to loosen the caked on snow at the bottom of their boots. Sousuke grabs a basket and then another and thrusts it in his hands, “Do you have rice?”

He takes the garish red plastic basket and thinks, “I... think so?”

Sousuke sighs heavily, almost in disappointment and shoos him toward the aisle, “Just grab a two kilo bag and meet me in the meats.”

Makoto works his way through the labyrinth of the market until he finally finds the dry foods aisle. He stands in front of the pallets of rice, confusion overtaking his thoughts. _Why are there so many different kinds of rice?_ He tries to recall the kind his mother buys but his memory fails him. Why didn’t he pay closer attention? The sheer amount of choices overwhelms him — paralyzing him.

He must have been standing here for a while because Sousuke shows up, narrowing his eyes at him. “What are you doing?”

“I…” Crap, is he really going to admit he doesn’t know what rice to get? His ‘ _I’m capable_ ’ assessment is seriously becoming very, very suspect. “I can’t remember what kind of rice Haru gets,” he mumbles pathetically.

Sousuke gapes at him in incredulity, his mouth opening and closing, resembling a fish out of water that's gasping for breath. “I’m sorry, you… You don't know what _rice_ to get?”

He glances sheepishly at his gob smacked friend, “Heh. ...Oops?”

Sousuke’s eyes roll up toward the ceiling, as if praying for strength, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have got to be kidding me.” His teal eyes return to glare at him, “You are absolutely hopeless.”

“Hey!”

“Are you seriously going to deny that after I found you standing here for the last ten minutes because you don't know what kind of rice you eat?”

“Well… I mean, if I could just remember the packaging…”

“They’re all packaged nicely for you, Makoto.”

“Stop pressuring me!”

His patience finally snaps. Sousuke reaches for the closest bag, snatching it violently with his dominant hand, and waves it in his face. “I eat this one. And now, so will you.”

Makoto squints at the plain brown paper packaging with a bright splash of orange and big black lettering. His eyes light up with a beaming smile to match, “Oh! That looks familiar! I think that's the one Haru gets.” Makoto swears that the corner of his eyes twitch but it was quick so he can’t be sure.

Sousuke throws the offending sack into his basket, “Un-fucking-believable,” he mutters under his breath.

He follows Sousuke out of the aisle and finally notices that his basket is bursting with goodies. “What's all this?”

“It’s for soup,” he gestures to the stock and wide array of vegetables. “It’s the perfect weather for it.”

Makoto frowns yet again. If this keeps up, his mouth will stay like that forever and that’s no way to live your life. “You really don't have to go through all this trouble, Sousuke.”

Sousuke cards his hair nonchalantly, shrugging his bad shoulder slightly. Makoto isn’t sure if he had done it because he was going for the cool nonchalance or if the shoulder was bothering him again. The cold weather tends to exacerbate the soreness. He once explained the various theories for the phenomenon from changes to barometric pressure to the shrinking of tissues that cause them to pull on nerve endings to the changes in joint fluid thickness. He makes a mental note to pull out the electric hot water bottle his mother had gotten him when he complained about the Tokyo winter last year.

“It’s no trouble. You’re not the only one eating.”

He pauses briefly in surprise. He should have realized that that's the case but his brain really is fried. “Oh.”

Sousuke side-eyes him in amusement, “What, you thought I was cooking just for one? Please, I am not _that_ magnanimous. I need to eat too.”

He flushes in embarrassment. He _really_ should have known better.

“Okay.” He pauses to think how lucky he is to have friends that care about his well being despite his protests. “Thanks, Sousuke.”

Sousuke looks away, hunching his shoulders and curling into himself — clearly flustered by Makoto's sincerity. “Just shut up and get in line.”

Sousuke doesn’t argue when Makoto insists on paying for the groceries. In fact, he doesn’t even reach for his wallet. Which is fair considering all the trouble he’s going through to make sure he gets a home cooked meal. The two haul the heavy bags back to the apartment as fast as possible, not wanting to stay in the chilly winter air longer than necessary. They burst in through the door as soon as it’s unlocked, both men shuddering from the cold as they peel off their thick coats and kick off their heavy boots. Sousuke grabs the bags and moves into the kitchenette as Makoto fiddles with the thermostat. When they hear the heat kick on, they sigh in relief.

Sousuke begins to unload the food and nods to him, “Go. Take a shower. Take a long bath. This won’t take long but it’ll take long enough. So go. Relax.” 

Makoto hesitates, debating over helping Sousuke and doing as he was directed. He glances at his friend. His back is turned to him, already deeply immersed in his task, so he turns and shuffles to the bathroom. A bath sounds really, really good right now. Heavenly, truth be told. A nice warm soak to soothe his chilled, achy bones. He grabs his pajamas and scoffs at himself. Achy bones? He’s 21, not a 90-year-old grandpa.

He fills the tub with more-than-warm-but-not-quite-scalding-hot-water and jumps in the shower to scrub away the day's filth and grime. He takes the time to massage his scalp with shampoo, relishing in the mindless pressure from his fingers. He sighs in pleasure, tipping his head as he searches for more contact. He freezes when he realizes he’s acting like a cat getting its ears scratched. He abruptly withdraws his hands from his head lest he begins to purr and quickly — clinically — rinses the suds from his hair and body.

Once free of soap, he slides into the hot bath, the steam still skimming the surface. He sinks below and all of a sudden, he realizes why Haruka derives so much pleasure in soaking in the tub. The soreness he felt from the day seems to simply melt away from his body. The tense and stiff muscles uncoil until he’s left with a pleasant, tender sense of relaxation that seeps into his very pores. The limbs that had been frozen from the winter weather eagerly coming back to life as blood begins to recirculate.

He feels himself drifting off but a distant bang from the kitchenette jolts him awake. Reluctantly, he drags himself out of the tub, the cooling bath water cascading down his body as he stands. Going through the motions, Makoto pats himself dry and tugs on the well-worn cotton flannel of his pajamas before padding out into the communal area of his small flat.

Sousuke’s back is to Makoto so when he turns around, he jumps in surprise. “Jesus, Makoto. Make some noise when you enter a room.”

“Sorry,” he rubs his neck sheepishly.

“Even cats make a sound,” he mutters under his breath.

"Sorry,” he apologizes again.

“Dinner is ready so take a seat.”

His apartment is rather small and probably too cramped for someone of his size to comfortably live in, but his neighbors are nice and it's in a decent neighborhood. The open concept and lack of walls allows the scent of their dinner to waft into the communal rooms, filling the apartment with the mouth-watering aroma. Everything smells delicious and the table is already set: two hefty bowls of soup, a plate of sautéed vegetables, and pan seared chicken as their protein. All that’s missing is the rice, which conveniently appears in front of him when Sousuke emerges from the kitchen.

A frighteningly, embarrassingly loud noise stops Sousuke dead in his tracks. Makoto flushes wildly and slumps into his seat, hoping for the floor to open up and swallow him.

Sousuke apprehensively approaches the dining table. “I hope you're hungry,” Sousuke deadpans, “I made a lot.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” he grumbles as he reaches for his chopsticks. “I didn’t even realize how hungry I was.”

“See? It’s a good thing I made you dinner then. If it had been up to you, you’d just get an onigiri and call it a night.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it. Thank you. Again.”

“Shut up and eat.”

With a quick _itadakimasu_ , the two dig in, practically inhaling the humble feast before them. As he gulps down the remaining soup, he glances at Sousuke and asks, “Hey, what was that noise earlier?”

“Nothing,” Sousuke, with a mouthful of food, replies quickly.

“Nothing?” He arches a skeptical eyebrow at his friend, “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

Sousuke swallows the mouthful of rice before replying, “I misjudged how tiny your fucking kitchen is and slammed into a wall. I’m fine. Don't fret over it.”

He winces. He’s quite familiar with the compact nature of the kitchen. “It was the pantry wasn't it?”

Calling it a pantry is generous. It was more like a rather large wooden shoebox that was tacked onto one of the other cabinets.

Sousuke nods in the affirmative, “You too?”

“I have about a thousand bruises from that thing.”

“You should tell your supervisor about it. It’s got to be some kind of health hazard.”

“Haru says the same thing.”

“So that’s twice in one night that I’m agreeing with Nanase. Sound the alarms. We should run for cover.”

“Don't be so melodramatic.”

“Just finish your rice.”

“Bossy.”

“You’re damn right.”

The two finish their meal shortly after in relative silence — only the occasional clinking of the chopsticks hitting the porcelain bowls and plates providing brief respites from the quiet. Sousuke pushes up, the wood legs of the chair scraping against the floor, causing Makoto to look up and jump from his seat, gathering the empty plates and bowls, “I’ll take care of that.”

Sousuke thinks about it briefly but eventually shrugs, handing off his empty rice bowl off to Makoto.  
He dumps the bowls and plates into the sink and waves at it dismissively. Normally, he’d wash them immediately but he’s entertaining a guest. It can wait until after.

Makoto joins Sousuke in the living room, Sousuke having seemingly made himself comfortable. He settles down next to him, nudging his foot with a toe, “Dinner was really good. Thanks again.”

Sousuke cracks open an eye, the teal looking smug and satisfied, “You’re welcome.” He groans as he sits up and nods at Makoto's old Nintendo system (the newer, fancier system left behind in Iwatobi for the twins), “Set it up.”

Makoto smirks in amusement. Sousuke _hates_ playing video games with him. Sousuke hadn’t realized how competitive Makoto was when it came to games. Until that big water gun battle. And even then, Sousuke brushed it off as a one off. So when Makoto’s usual laid back, sunny optimism was replaced with the menacing and diabolical gaming persona the first time they played Super Mario Kart, it was a revelation. To say he was surprised would be an understatement.  
Haruka had been there to bear witness to the whole affair and with Sousuke gaping at him, Haruka crowed flatly, but smugly, “Told you you shouldn’t have challenged him.” 

“You sure? I thought you never wanted to play me ever again after that last time?”

Sousuke’s ultra competitiveness ignites as he glares at him, “Shut up. And set it up.”

“You’re so mean. You know, you’ve been telling me to shut up all day.”

“Stop saying stupid things and I’ll stop telling you to shut up.”

Makoto gets off the couch but continues the conversation, “They’re not stupid. I expressed my gratitude. And facts.” He side-eyes him smugly, “It’s not my fault you can’t deal with thank yous. Or handle the truth apparently.”

Sousuke grunts as he snags a controller from his hands, “You talk too much.”

“You talk too little.”

“I talk enough,” he retorts.

“Just like Haru,” he sighs as they both scroll through the character and kart list before settling on their preferred choices.  
Sousuke visibly stops himself from saying _shut up_ again and settles for a displeased scowl.

“Just start the game, Tachibana,” he grits through his teeth.

Makoto settles in next to him, finding a comfortable spot and position before grinning at him, “Okay. But don’t get mad when you lose.”

Sousuke snorts haughtily, “Please. You’re tired. I’m pretty sure I’m winning tonight.”

“I _was_ tired. I’m not anymore. And I have you to thank.”

He smiles brightly at Sousuke — all teeth and crinkling eyes. He’s fully aware that he’s taunting him but hey, Sousuke’s the one that started down this path.  
He only has himself to blame.

After five rounds, it’s not _quite_ the massacre Makoto had expected, but hey, _he was tired_. He still won 3-to-2 and really, that’s all that matters.

“All right,” he tosses the controller onto the coffee table, “I’m heading out. Good thing I don’t have morning class tomorrow.”

“Sorry about that.”

Sousuke waves him off, “Nah, I insisted.” He gets up and stretches his arms over his head. With a quick squat, he jabs his finger into Makoto's chest, “I’m getting close, Makoto. One day, you’re going to lose. And when you do, I’ll be there: laughing over your crumpled body.”

Makoto looks at him worriedly. “You’ve put way too much thought into this.”

Sousuke shoves his feet into his heavy, leather boots and eyes at him sternly, as if he were a parent speaking to a child, “Go to sleep. I swear, Makoto, if you crack open a textbook, I’ll know.”

“How?”

“ _I’ll know_ ,” he reiterates.

Makoto nods. Fine, he’ll humor him. “I got it.” But Sousuke is unconvinced and unimpressed by his halfhearted affirmation so he tries again. He heaves a tired sigh, “I swear, Sousuke. I will not study. I will go straight to bed.”

“You better. Or I’ll confiscate your textbooks.”

“Please don’t. It won’t be necessary. I promise.”

He hums, still dissatisfied but nods anyway as he shrugs on his coat, flipping his hood out and bracing for the cold.

“You know, you’re more than welcome to stay. It’s pretty cold.”

“No, thank you. I rather sleep in my own bed.”

“Well, if you insist. But if you get sick...”

“I actually do have a mother, Makoto.”

“Oh, haha. Very cute. Excuse me for worrying.”

“Just for one night, Makoto, stop worrying about everything and every _ **one**_ else. Take a day off. I promise, it won’t be the end of the world.”

Makoto sighs and nods. It would be nice to just let everything go. “Let me know when you get home.”

“There you go; worrying again, Tachibana.”

“No, it’s just making sure my friend isn’t lying in a ditch somewhere.”

Sousuke puckers his lips in contemplation and nods, “Fine. I’ll let you have that one.”

“You’re so gracious. Good night.”

“Good night.”

With Sousuke gone, he rolls up his sleeves and heads to the kitchenette, deftly avoiding the jutting cabinet. He puts on some of the head-bangingest music to keep him company. It’s not the kind of music that his neighbors would appreciate very much so he lowers the volume; even though that isn’t the way it’s meant to be enjoyed. He hums along, occasionally snarling out a lyric or two as he dunks bowls, plates, and utensils into the tub of soapy water. The hot water turns his hands into an abnormal shade of red but as his mother said, “it’s necessary to cut through the grease.” So he sucks it up and works through it.

He flinches at his dry, cracked, red hands when he’s finished, sighing sadly at the skin around his fingernails splitting open. Between the cold and this, it’s not exactly doing his hands any favors. It's worse than anything chlorine has ever done to him. He'll need to shove his hands in a tub of lotion if this continues. Maybe he should get some rubber gloves for this.

He moves back toward the couch, rolling up the controllers and putting the Super Nintendo back in its designated cubby. His fingers skim the cover of his Physio textbook but he then remembers Sousuke’s ominous _I’ll know_.

Now, Makoto’s not crazy enough to actually believe he’s omniscient but he does decide to follow his advice. He has been working very hard this semester as he's getting deeper and deeper into his teaching program. He grabs a book off his makeshift bookshelf, heads off to bed to wrap himself up in his thick comforter, and reads instead.

Sometime during his second chapter, Sousuke texts him, letting him know that he’s home and that he’s not lying in a ditch somewhere. The snark was unnecessary in his opinion but that’s what he gets for being friends with the guy. They bicker for a bit about Makoto reading instead of relaxing, to which he adamantly explains that  _recreational reading **is** relaxing!_ But Sousuke finally lets him go so that he can go back to being a dork because he and Rei are the only two people he knows that actually reads for fun. He’d argue otherwise but he knows it’ll be a wasted effort so he bids him good night again. 

After an hour and five chapters later, the day’s events finally catch up to him so he curls into bed and goes to sleep feeling stress free for the first time in a long time.

After all, he has all that worrying to catch up on tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I started the bare bones of this when I was still writing Terms of Endearment and I planned on getting to this a lot sooner but after I finished with that series, I got super lazy. I’m not even going to lie or make excuses. It was straight up laziness.  
> First, it was the Olympics so I didn’t write anything for two weeks. Then it was one week of post-Olympic withdrawal which was just the pits. Then I wrote on and off for a week before needing to go to NY for a weekend. After that, I spent the rest of the month sporadically writing but not really. It was just me jotting down ideas without any elaboration and it just sat there. Sat there with the cursor blinking and taunting me.  
> I’m on vacation for 2+weeks soon so who knows when I’ll get chapter two in. But never fear, I won’t abandon you! It’ll just take a while is all.


	2. How Did I End Up Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Times like these are when he really misses his best friend. Because Makoto would have a scarf. Makoto would fret over him and admonish him for being forgetful or careless but he would most definitely have a scarf that he would gladly share with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! I really thought I'd be able to post up this chapter before I went on vacation but it obviously did not work out that way. Typical...
> 
> But here it is now! Enjoy!

Here is the thing about Tokyo: there is always something happening whether he liked it or not; with or without his permission. _This_ is one of those happenings. It annoys him immensely that he can be so easily dragged into these situations. This wasn’t always the case—he only ever allowed himself to be swept up in certain circumstances when it came to Makoto—but since arriving in Tokyo, he finds himself more willing to surround himself with other humans outside of his immediate circle of friends. 

At least for a limited amount of time.  

Once every two weeks.  

And for an hour at most.

But only consisting of his teammates. He may or may not work on the classmates part in the future. It’ll depend on how much his classmates annoy him but currently, it seems highly unlikely that he’ll endeavor in such things.  

He blames Makoto’s influence for his newfound tolerance of others. Because that’s the _only_ explanation for him being here. 

 _Here_ being a dank, but surprisingly spacious, room that glows brightly in obnoxious neon lights. The tiny, but deceptively powerful, disco ball cycles through all the colors of the rainbow—bathing the raucous room in different shades blues, purples, reds, greens, yellows, and oranges. He would be more receptive of them if it weren’t so strong and schizophrenic. The colors change far too quickly—as though it couldn’t decide what color it wanted to be for more than one second. 

It brings an irritating and dull throb behind his eyes.  

Exacerbating the matter is the pounding music that he can’t seem to escape from. Every beat reverberates through his entire body, making his blood tingle and skin pinch uncomfortably. The booming pressure of the bass pouring out of the subwoofer squeezes his head until his teeth begins to ache down to its roots. The deep, pulsing vibrations ruthlessly punches him right in the jaw. And the constant stream of ringing in his ears makes it hard to think much less hear the conversation he’s kind of, sort of, not really currently engaged in.  

It’s a full frontal assault on his senses that leaves him grimacing every two seconds. Each cell in his body protests at the unfamiliar and decidedly unwelcomed sensation. 

He looks over to his left for the millionth time, his brows pinched in contemplation. It has been nearly full two years now and he still finds himself constantly asking: How in the world did he end up in the same university—much less the _same swim team_ —as Mikoshiba Seijuurou?

Prior to starting his university career, Haruka only had a few brief encounters with the former Samezuka captain: the occasional joint swim practices (agreed upon due to his generosity), when he chewed Rin out for participating in the relay with them (which was understandable), and when he came back the following year to cheer on his alma mater and brother at nationals (also understandable). 

But now? Now, he can’t escape the enthusiastic, happy-go-lucky redhead even if he tried. 

The thing of it is, Mikoshiba is the captain of their university swim team, even though he’s still an underclassman. Well, still an underclassman for the next few months anyway. The team welcomed him with open arms though; he is strict and serious, able to make difficult decisions but also kind, forgiving, and quick to laugh. He also has the uncanny ability to disarm tension, which reminds Haruka a bit of Makoto.

And while he’s a natural born leader and easy to get along with, Haruka finds him more than a little bit exhausting. He seems to have more energy than Nagisa and _both_ Tachibana twins combined. He suddenly nods his head as it finally dawns on him; it must be something about the Mikoshibas because if he can recall correctly, the younger red-head has a similar, if not more so, disposition. 

After having first-hand experience, he now understands why Rin was so nervous and reluctant about taking over as Samezuka’s captain all those years ago—Mikoshiba left some rather large shoes to fill. He is, in a word, beloved. From the coaches to the trainers, teammates and fellow students, professors and administrators; whomever they might be, they respect him. 

The younger ones admire him. _Idolizes_ him, might be more accurate. They hang onto every word, taking it as gospel. Their eyes glimmering in rapt attention even as he lectures them. He often hears the younger swimmers on the team mutter to themselves, “ _What would Captain Mikoshiba do_?” 

Frankly, the level of devotion verges on creepy but Mikoshiba doesn’t seem to mind so he stays out of it. As long as he isn’t the center of their attention and admiration, it doesn’t affect him in the least. He is, however, firmly in the former and not the latter camp. He can easily recognize the qualities worthy of respect despite the current misgivings outside of their captain and teammate relationship. 

So how does he end up squished between the burly captain and another, even burlier, teammate as they horrendously wail to the latest pop radio hit at the top of their lungs? Haruka flinches at a particularly high, off-key, discordant note. Whoever is attempting a falsetto really, really shouldn’t. He’s pretty sure he’s now the proud owner of a popped eardrum. He’s not sure if he’s bleeding from his ears but it certainly _feels_ like it is. 

They’re not very good at this karaoke thing. He has heard the neighborhood stray cats _screech_ better than this. At least the cats don’t make his teeth throb. The mic  _squeals_ when they finish the note. So even the microphone protests the tortured howling, expressing its displeasure of being party to this insufferable nonsense. 

The headache that had been forming since the night began creeps up behind his eyes—the left side more than the right. Any more of this, his brain is going to start leaking out of his ringing ears. If he ends up with permanent tinnitus from this, he _will_ wreak havoc.  

He guesses that he should be grateful that they’re all athletes and therefore is in a smoke-free environment. The last thing he wants is for cigarette smoke to burn his eyes, nose, and throat on top of all these other discomforts. However, the smoking habits from previous occupants still stubbornly cling to the gaudy paisley print wallpaper and the cheap, plastic vinyl upholstery of the seats. It is rather disgusting; _especially_ when he can _**taste**_ the ash still lingering in the air. He can _**feel**_ the strong, ashtray-y stench that begins to seep into his own clothes. 

And hair.  

And, he shudders involuntarily, _skin_.  

He is going to have to scrub extra-long and extra hard when he showers tonight. 

If Makoto were here, he would be able to effortlessly excuse the both of them from this particular disaster area—Makoto can’t stand the smell of smoke either—so he wouldn’t lecture him about bailing early. Makoto would smile and use his honey-dipped, sugary-sweet voice to make up some nonsense about needing to feed his goldfish or something. They wouldn’t believe him of course—it would be the least convincing excuse ever—but they also wouldn’t stop him. Not when he (manipulatively) smiles the way he does. 

Which, by the way, is bullshit. Just because Haruka… _scowls_ , doesn’t mean they get to keep him here when all he wants to do is go home and pass out. It's total and utter bullshit that that’s the case but what he wouldn’t give to be able to convincingly pull a Makoto now. 

Maybe he can send an SOS text to Makoto. He’d hem and haw and say that Haruka needs to get along with his teammates but ultimately, he’d wilt under his stony silence and save him because Makoto can’t stand knowing Haruka’s discomfort. Especially so when he knows he can relieve him of said discomfort. 

Besides, he gets along with his teammates perfectly fine. Sure, conversations are brief and his responses are short and to the point, and they usually don’t stray from team matters but he willingly _interacts_ with them. Which is more than anyone could ever ask for. Especially from him. So he fails to see how a single trip to a karaoke box could improve matters more than the current circumstances. 

He squirms uncomfortably in the stiff, U-shaped couch and tries to root around in his pocket for his phone but his arms are firmly pinned down by the two swimmers that have a combined fifteen kilos on him. 

He glares at the two jovially singing and eagerly recruiting the others to engage in a group song.  

He circles back to his original question of _how_ did he end up here? 

He clearly remembers that the team had just finished an, by Mikoshiba's account, ‘excellent’ practice and the red-head declared that they deserved an extra special dinner.   
Okay, nothing unusual there. Mikoshiba would often treat the team out for dinner. Especially if _Mikoshiba_ has excess energy to burn. 

During dinner—at this quaint, little, hole-in-the-wall yakiniku place—along with piles and piles of various meats, there may have been some (read: a copious amount) alcohol that was consumed. At an alarming rate.   
Again, nothing unusual. It’s not a _common_ occurrence, mind you—they _are_ athletes after all—but it also wasn’t unheard of. Especially when you factor in the often overlooked reality that they’re not _just_ athletes—they’re also university students. As in, they are young adults that are getting a real taste of freedom after getting out from under the thumb of their parents for the first time in their lives. And young people, more often than not, make questionable decisions, so of course alcohol would be involved. And with alcohol, even more questionable decisions are made. It’s truly a vicious and never ending cycle. 

After dinner, Kuroda, a strawberry blonde, beefy third-year, butterfly specialist currently pinning him to the cracking, obnoxiously red, vinyl chaise, suggested, with much applause and fanfare, that they should go karaoke (see: yet another young person's alcohol induced questionable decision). And as a much loved activity of the captain’s, Mikoshiba agreed enthusiastically. In fact, he _demanded_ that it be a required commitment for each and every team member. And that’s when things went off the rails.

Haruka, of course, tried to back away slowly, hoping to avoid detection. He tried to sneak away, not wanting to draw any attention to his movements, as they debated over the best karaoke box for this. He agreed to _dinner_ , not a night of bad and drunk singing.

Besides, he reached his one-hour limit.

So, Mikoshiba can say whatever he wants, can levy all kinds of threats, but the reality is, they’d _never_ throw their star swimmer off the team. Especially not after how _much_ and how _long_ they courted him for. Besides, Mikoshiba would never **actually** throw someone off the team over something as trivial as this.

He almost made it to the end of the block until Hanada, a second-year, overly-excitable, breaststroker—reminiscent of _another_ overly-excitable breaststroker by the name of Hazuki Nagisa—noticed his slow movements and chased after him. Hanada pulled him back to the group against his will—he dragged his feet the entire way—where from then on, Mikoshiba and Kuroda refused to let him out of their sight. 

Which leads him back to _here_. And how in the flipping world did he allow himself to be dragged into _this_? 

He has met his quota of time spent with the team to last him at least two months. Any more than that, he wouldn’t need to see them for another calendar year. 

He glares and elbows Kuroda none too gently when he leans heavily into him as he drinks his beer. Haruka would _gladly_ take a glass himself but no amount of alcohol could save him from this fate. Also, he doesn’t think medicating his headache with beer is a very smart decision, so he refrains. Much to his chagrin. 

He scowls bitterly at Mikoshiba and Kuroda even though neither is paying him any attention. It is  _their_ fault. It always is. No matter the activity the swim team participates in, these two are _always_ at the center of the whole thing. They happily playing the ringleaders to the merry band of fools.

He lets out an annoyed breath. Doesn’t being the captain mean you have to be the responsible one and shoot down terrible ideas? Isn’t that supposed to be the sole and main purpose of the post? And _this_? _This_ is a terrible idea. After all, they have practice early in the morning.

He sighs and tries to sink into the seat, instantly regretting the action as the movement causes the smoke-drenched, beer-stained vinyl to squeak obnoxiously loud. How much longer are they going to stay here? 

He finally gets a chance to breathe when they finish up a presumably American bubblegum pop song but the next track does _not_ automatically switch on. English has always been his worst subject but even _he_ could tell how terrible their rendition was. The rattling in his brain stops just long enough for him to finally hear himself think again but it doesn’t last very long. 

A microphone is shoved in his face and he stares at it blankly, unsure of what he’s being asked of. 

“Come on, Nanase-senpai!” A first-year, Haruka is pretty sure his name is Fujiwara—or is it Fujioka?—who _shouldn’t even be here_ considering the flowing alcohol, pleads with wide, glimmering eyes. 

Haruka eyes the microphone with suspicion and complete and utter disdain. “I don’t understand,” he intones flatly. 

“Come on, Nanase,” Mikoshiba booms in his most captain-y voice, “You can’t come to karaoke and _not_ sing.” His tone could only be classified as playfully reprimanding. Like a parent scolding their five year old child for sneaking in a sweet just before dinner. 

It’s sufficiently annoying. Also, condescending. 

Mikoshiba claps him on the back, which he _does not_ appreciate, but the movement means Mikoshiba is no longer pinning him down, which he _does_ appreciate. 

Haruka successfully elbows the red-head in the ribs (earning a painful groan from him) and then shoves the other to successfully slither out from under the two. The spilled alcohol makes the oversized table and floors slick and sticky and he nearly slips from getting up too quickly.

Having extracted himself from their menace, he narrows his eyes at them, muttering with disinterest. “I didn’t _come_ to karaoke. I was  _coerced_.”  

“Well, yu’r hurr now so you hafta sing,” Kuroda quips with a slight slur. Kuroda swings the microphone around as if it _weren’t_ a somewhat expensive piece of equipment. 

Haruka swats the microphone away a little harder than was necessary and it clatters to the ground, creating a massive feedback loop that sends everyone reeling and scrambling to cover their ears. The sharp shrieking does his headache no favors. He shakes out the ringing, his glare weakening under the pain between his ears. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles sincerely before continuing, “I don’t _have_ to do anything. And I don’t know any of these songs.” He grabs his coat—upending a sleepy Hanada who was sitting on it—and shoves his arms into the sleeves. The group whines their disappointment but he refuses to be swayed in any way. He ignores the protests and pleads to stay. “You’ve had your fun and you can continue to have your fun, but me?” He shakes head again to dissipate the remaining throb in his skull, “…As riveting as this has been, I’m going home. _Now_.” He turns to the door but he quickly turns back to them before the protests could start up again, “Don’t stop me.” 

The captain scrambles to climb out of the seat but falls back down when his knee hits the unnecessarily large table that takes up more than half the room. Mikoshiba sucks in a pained breath and rubs his knee. “Wait, Nanase! It’s late!” 

Haruka cocks his head just enough to see that Mikoshiba is still struggling to stand. “I _know_ ,” he slowly drawls. It’s like he is speaking to a bunch of preschoolers. “That’s why I’m leaving. Enjoy the rest of the night. I’ll see you at practice.”  

Haruka throws down some money to cover his portion of the bill—even though he didn’t sing or drink—and bolts out the door in a hurry. If he stays any longer, he’ll get dragged back in and he is _not_ getting dragged back in. A deep frown mars his wintery, pale face; he’s perfectly aware and _hates_ that that’s even a possibility. 

 _Stupid Tokyo_. 

Haruka pushes the glass doors open and inhales deeply when the invigorating cold hits him square in the face. The immediate drop in temperature wakes him up. Even under multiple layers of thick clothing, the hairs along his arms stand on end. It doesn’t keep him from sighing in relief though, glad to get away from his teammates. It’s not that he doesn’t like them because he actually likes them just fine. He genuinely does. In terms of human beings, they’re actually pretty okay people. They can be rather entertaining at times and they generally know when to leave him be. 

And it’s not that he’s anti-social—far from it. Haruka realizes that he may come off that way. He knows he comes off as a bit aloof and standoffish—but he’s really not. It’s just that he prefers to spend his time on things that interests him. Like drawing or cooking or swimming. Doing things that he has zero interest in is exhausting. He expends too much energy mapping out escape routes, too much time feigning interest (because Makoto keeps insisting that that’s the polite thing to do), and too much energy thinking up of an excuse to wriggle out of it. It’s just incredibly draining—physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Halfway down the street, he hears a chorus of off-key, drunk singing behind him and he knows exactly who it is. He doesn’t turn around though, trudging along as if he hadn’t heard them and doesn’t know who they are. He speeds up, shoving his hands in his pockets and burying his face in the collar but the singing gets progressively closer and louder until Mikoshiba and Kuroda are once again flanking him. 

He sighs in resignation, surrendering to their persistent pursuit to keep him from the warm comforts of his bed. “I just really want to go home. I’m exhausted.”  

Kuroda, who looks somewhat soberer in the two minutes he left him, nudges his shoulder cheerfully, “Don’t worry, don’t worry! We’re not gonna stop you!”  

Mikoshiba bobs his head enthusiastically, “Relax, Nanase-kun, we’re just gonna walk you to the train station. How could I, your fearless captain, allow you to walk by your lonesome this late at night?” He gestures dramatically to dark, shadowy surroundings.

Mikoshiba could be so incredibly melodramatic. It reminds Haruka of Rei. That’s now three of his friends that he has found similarities in Mikoshiba over the course of a single night. He isn’t sure what to think about that.  

“Yeah, Nanase-senpai, it’s dangerous to walk around alone in Tokyo at night,” Fujioka, no, wait, it’s definitely Fuji _wara_ , explains in a deep, eerie voice, wriggling his fingers as he does so. 

Haruka rolls his eyes. It’s the same voice his father used to use on him and Makoto that one time he told them this scary ghost story at the tender age of six. Makoto freaked out halfway through the story and he had cried until he started to hiccup. With a piercing glare from both Haruka and his mother, his father never told Makoto another scary ghost story.

Haruka snorts derisively. The mere prospect of them playing the white knight and defending _anyone_ is laughable. Also, he is perfectly capable on his own. “You’re drunk. Fat lot of good you’ll be if there really is an assailant.”  

A fellow second year, Suzuki, who, if he recalls correctly, was the only one that didn’t drink, pouts in exaggeration. “Aw, Haruka-kun, don’t be mean!” 

Haruka flinches at the use of his formal name. There is only five people in his life who ever calls him that. Well, four now, since his grandmother passed—his parents and Makoto’s parents. That’s it. And he plans to keep it that way. 

Oh, right. He supposes that Rei and Gou’s use of Haruka-senpai gets a pass too. _But that’s really, really it._  Really. 

His death glare does not seem to have the effect he was hoping for in the haze of the alcohol induced merriment so he sighs instead.

Okay, maybe he _is_ being a bit of a sourpuss but he’s pretty sure he gets bonus points for putting up with this nonsense for as long as he already has. He’s been forced out of his comfort zone for long enough and he’s ready to go back into the safety and comfort of his circle. If that makes him a stick in the mud or a wet blanket or whatever euphemism you want to use, then so be it. 

 _And!_ ** _And_** they’re drunk! Or, at least buzzed. Strongly intoxicated. If you ask him, he has gallantly put up with **_way_** more than is expected or required of him. After all, this is _not_ what he signed up for. 

He flicks the heavy arms off his shoulders. Turning his nose up at the noisy bunch, he quickly moves away before they can trap him again. He doesn’t run away from them like he wants to but he does walk a safe distance ahead of them as he knows the rowdy bunch just wants to “bond as a team” and as long as he is in the general vicinity, it counts. 

So he doesn’t run. 

He looks up at the dark, inky sky, the bright lights of Tokyo drowns out the glow of the stars. Back at home, he, Makoto, and the twins would lie down out back—either at the Tachibana’s or at Haruka’s—and stare up at the twinkling blackness. He and Makoto would take turns telling the twins all kinds celestial myths his grandmother had told the two of them when they were the twins’ age. He sighs forlornly at being rudely reminded, once again, that he’s no longer in Iwatobi. 

He flinches when a wet drop lands on his brow and swipes an icy finger at his eyes. The snow suddenly starts up again, quickly covering the streets, trees, storefronts, and cars in a thin layer of fluffy and pristine white blanket. The onslaught doesn’t diminish the group’s enthusiasm in the least. In fact, they seem to grow even more enthusiastic as they slur— _loudly_ —through a classic song that even he’s familiar with. 

They are _**so**_ inebriated. It is becoming embarrassing. Haruka keeps waiting for the police to show up and arresting the lot of them for disturbing the peace. Or drunk and disorderly conduct. Really, there is a whole laundry list of things they can be held on including, but not limited to, under aged drinking. 

Haruka realizes that the best part—and his _favorite_ part—of the song is coming up and predictably, the group bellows the last line before dissolving into giddy, manic laughter. He doesn’t partake however, too focused on the tiny flecks of ice pelting him in the face as he walks against the direction of the snowfall. 

Snowflakes catch in his lashes, melting under the warmth of his skin. It stings his eyes, making them water profusely while his ears begins the painful process of solidifying under the current conditions. His nose burns as he feels the uncomfortable and unmistakable sensation of snot dripping down the back of his throat. He tosses his head back, shaking whatever snow, ice, or water caught between the strands. 

Drifting through the dark, near empty street, he pulls the collar of his coat higher, trying to protect his face from the brunt of the painful ice stabbing him. A sharp chill suddenly seizes his body, causing him to shiver and spasm in a futile attempt to fend off the cold. He huffs at the spontaneous action and wishes he had the foresight of grabbing a scarf before he left the apartment this morning but his lack of neck wear is par for course. 

Times like these are when he really misses his best friend. Because Makoto would have a scarf. Makoto would fret over him and admonish him for being forgetful or careless but he would most definitely have a scarf that he would gladly share with him. Haruka would sigh and try to brush him off, insisting that it’s not a big deal but ultimately, he would fail in foiling Makoto’s mother henning and end up silently thanking him for being so insistent. 

He sighs at his meandering, Makoto-centered thoughts when all of a sudden he stops to look at his surroundings. His feet has taken him to his station without him realizing. He turns to his teammates, still singing in an uncoordinated fashion, throwing their arms up in the air, and precariously holding each other up. 

Practice should be interesting tomorrow, he thinks vindictively.  

The stiffness in his fingers begin to ache, having forgotten his gloves along with the scarf, so he clenches and unclenches fists in his pockets, trying to work circulation back in his extremities. He cups his hands in front of his mouth and blows, hoping his breath is warm enough to stave off the cold.

It’s not. 

He nods toward the station, “This is me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

Hanada steps forward shakily, his arm shooting up eagerly in the air and bouncing on the balls of his feet as if he were answering a question in a classroom. “Oh! Me too!” 

Haruka narrows his eyes. He knows for a _fact_ that Hanada lives in the cluster of complexes near campus. This train will take him _away_ from said complexes. He glances over to their ‘fearless leader’ and Mikoshiba nods. Even mostly tipsy—borderline buzzed—he looks after his brood. He begrudgingly admits that the elder Mikoshiba can be a mature adult when the time calls for it. Which he is incredibly thankful for at the moment because he doesn’t have nearly enough patience to deal with any of their current, half-drunken shenanigans.

The towering giant narrow his eyes sternly, his index finger wagging menacingly at the wide-eyed second-year, “Daiya-kun, you live on the other side of the campus.” He turns to the rest of the underclassmen and barks, “And so do the rest of you! Now go on home! I expect you to be at the aquatic centre at eight! Bright and early!” 

Yep. Practice will be _very_ interesting.  

The loud and simultaneous groans are actually rather amusing; the synchronization of their dismay was nearly robotic in nature. “But captain…!”  

Whiny robots. 

“No buts!” The red-head booms impatiently and straightens up to his full height.

He would never admit out loud, but Mikoshiba is rather imposing and intimidating when he does that. It doesn’t affect Haruka very much though. He is very familiar with this stance and has seen it numerous times from Makoto (when he would need to assert himself with the twins) and Yamazaki (his default setting). But then again, Mikoshiba is several centimeters taller than those two so it’s doubly effective.

The clap his hands make when they’re brought together is just short of thunderous. “Get out of here! And remember to drink lots of fluids!” There’s a brief pause before Mikoshiba clarifies, “That means water!”

Kuroda, who basically serves as a vice captain of sorts—even if he’s without the official title—corrals the first and second years and leads them away to the correct station. They start up the singing again like the bunch of idiots that they are, mangling what little appeal the song had. He stares at the retreating backs until they’re no longer in sight. 

A strong gust of wind blows past him and then he’s left alone on the sidewalk with Mikoshiba. His eyes drifts to the man next to him and frowns. Shouldn’t he be getting home too? It’s nearly one and, while it's not officially a part of the team’s training regimen, he knows that Mikoshiba never misses his morning run. 

His 6:30-in-the-morning morning run. 

Haruka also knows that despite it all—the late night, the drinking, the early morning wakeup, and the unnecessary run—Mikoshiba will show up at the pool ten minutes before anyone else looking as fresh as a god damn daisy. Because that’s just the absurdity of the human being that is Mikoshiba Seijuurou. While everyone else will struggle with a hangover or a headache tomorrow, he’ll get to go about his business as if nothing happened tonight. 

Haruka rises a curious eyebrow at Mikoshiba, “What about you?” 

His gold eyes light up at being addressed. Like a golden retriever. “Oh. I don’t live on near campus. Haven’t since the beginning of my second year. I actually live fifteen minutes east of here. So this is my train too.” 

His shoulders slump in disappointment, “Splendid,” he mutters under his breath.  

Mikoshiba misses the dripping sarcasm and grins widely, slapping him in the back, “Isn’t it?” 

Haruka spins back and drags his feet through the snow and up the stairs with the captain chattering mindlessly behind him. The fiery red head goes on and on, already planning the next team outing. Horrifyingly, Mikoshiba ponders out loud—essentially talking to/arguing with himself—about the virtues of having an open mic type thing. That way, “it would help some of the shyer members get over their stage fright at certain swim meets.” As if the terrible singing of terrible songs is comparable to swimming on a quasi-national stage.  

This is shaping up to be the longest subway ride ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully, the next chapter doesn't take me as long to post. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you at the next one!


	3. It's Freaking Cold, You Lunatic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But here Haruka is, determined to change that fact; making that extra effort and for some reason, it quells the heat in his chest, soothing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything still hurts. 
> 
> So here's some escapism for me. And I guess, you too.

He blearily hears the doorbell chime several times but makes no effort to move from where he’s comfortably nesting. He had woken up 30 minutes prior out of sheer force of habit but was determined to fall back asleep considering the gloomy, mid-December,  _Saturday morning._  And he succeeded too until the incessant ringing broke through the hazy web of sleep. 

Faintly, he registers a key jiggling in the lock, the metal teeth clicking and clacking against the tumblers as it slides into place. But instead of greeting the visitor—like a civilized human being—he chooses to burrow deeper into the blankets and pillows.

Next, there’s a familiar, husky, but ultimately muffled  _pardon the intrusion_ being mumbled so he squeezes his eyes shut. He knows why _he’s_  here and he doesn’t like it so he desperately wills the day to fast forward.

Finally, his bedroom door swings open, the squeaky hinges screeching in his ears a little louder than usual and he holds his breath, feigning sleep and hoping against hope that the intruder will give up and leave.

“I know you’re awake, you giant faker,” a flat voice snaps through the crisp air like a rubber band.

There’s some impatient tapping at the foot of the bed and he can just imagine a slight frown coupled with a bored expression while his intruder folds his arms across his chest as he waits for him to roll out of bed. 

But he doesn’t roll out of bed. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. For a long time, there’s nothing from the other occupant of the room—not a peep, not a movement, not even an exasperated sigh he had been expecting. And if he didn’t know any better, he’d think the owner of the voice had left. But he’s  _not_ fooled into thinking that because he _does_ knows better. He knows him all too well and knows he won’t be deterred by something as petty and childish as this. And yes, he can fully admit how childish he’s being.

He waits in trepidation, his body stiffening as his muscles tense and coil in anticipation; wondering his next move. He doesn’t have to wait very long as his blanket is torn away from him hastily. The biting cold air hits him like a freight train, pricking every square millimeter of exposed—as well as **_un_** exposed—flesh like sharp needles.

He shrieks in horror, “ ** _Haru_**!! It’s freaking cold, you lunatic!!”

In contrast, Haruka just calmly stands there, his head tilted to the side as he holds the mass of blankets in his arms and managing to look smug even without a _hint_ of a smirk. _How does he pull that off?_

Haruka dumps the bunched up blankets onto a tiny corner of the bed. “Time get up, Makoto.”

He moans, pulling a fluffy pillow over his head and rolling away from Haruka and curling up into a compact ball. “Go away.”

“Makoto,” Haruka sighs tiredly, “you have a dental appointment.”

“I’ll reschedule,” he grumbles.

Haruka tsks at him, “You’ve already rescheduled. _**Twice**_. Now get up.”

“But _**I don’t want to**_!” He whines nasally, sounding more like one of the twins than their recently-turned-twenty-one-year-old brother. He can’t see it, but practically _hears_ Haruka rolling his eyes. Haruka is more than used to the dramatics.

“That doesn’t even work on your mother. You’re delusional if you think it’ll work on me.”

But he refuses to move and curls into an even tighter ball, hugging his knees to his chest in order to keep himself warm and to ward off Haruka. “I don’t want to,” he crankily repeats.

Haruka exhales impatiently, eyes narrowing at the motionless lump huddled in the middle of the outrageously narrow bed. “I’m not above shutting off the heat, opening all your windows, and stripping you naked in order to freeze you out of bed.”

His head quickly whips toward Haruka’s direction, green eyes snapping open in dismay, “You wouldn’t!”

Haruka pulls his lips in a tight line and straightens up—standing over him imposingly. “I just said I’m _not_ above it.”

His face pinches sourly, “You are so mean, Haru-chan!”

“Drop the -chan,” he shoots back automatically.

He finally drags himself out of the bed, yelping when his feet comes in contact with the cold wood floors, and stomps past Haruka—making his displeasure known to all, including, but not limited to, his downstairs neighbors. He’ll have to apologize when he’s less cranky. “I’m up, happy now?”

Haruka brushes the imaginary dust off his pants, looking bored and unfazed by his early morning grumpiness. “Brush your teeth, wash your face, and get dressed. I’ll make breakfast.”

“I don’t have mackerel!” He snaps irritably at his alleged best friend. Alleged because best friends would let their best friends sleep in on cold Saturday mornings. Not force them out of their warm beds just to go to the dentist.

Haruka sucks in a silent breath and rolls his eyes again, this time, rolling them so hard that he’s pretty sure they’ll fall out of his skull. “I wasn’t going to make mackerel.” 

He grouchily goes through the motions—squeezing a bit of toothpaste onto his toothbrush and then shoving it in his mouth—before wandering out of the bathroom with said toothbrush hanging precariously on his teeth. His speech is muffled with him trying to keep the foaming toothpaste from dribbling down his chin and drooling everywhere.

“Why do I have to go to the dentist?” It’s garbled gibberish but, per usual, Haruka understands exactly what had been said.

Haruka doesn’t look up from the bowl where he’s whisking the eggs. “Your mother asked me to look after you, remember? This is me, looking after you. Besides, it’s been over a year since you’ve last been.”

The last time he visited the dentist was when he went back home in Iwatobi for a week after his very first semester ended. Haruka, unfortunately (or fortunately depending on whose perspective), remained in Tokyo due to his training schedule. It wasn’t how he wanted to spend his week off and his mother had to practically drag him to the office kicking and screaming. It wasn’t one of his proudest moments.

Haruka finally looks up and scowls at him. Pushing him away, he shoos him out of the kitchen, “You’re getting toothpaste all over, Makoto. Go away.”

Makoto shuffles back to the bathroom to quickly finish his morning routine—minus the shower—and stomps back into the quote-unquote dining area.

He leans over the kind-of-but-not-really breakfast bar, “I _hate_ going to the dentist,” he pouts petulantly.

Haruka sighs. This happens every time and he’s pretty sure that Haruka sighing is just a innate reaction at this point. “It’s just a routine cleaning, Makoto. It’s not a big deal.”

He whines pathetically, rolling his head to the side and imploring Haruka to understand his distaste for the dentist. “But it’s not just a routine cleaning! It’s the poking for cavities and prodding at gums and x-rays! I _hate_ those x-rays. I can’t bite down on those things like that for so long! It makes my jaw ache.” He rubs his jaw—he’s getting sore just thinking about it.

Haruka cracks a small smile and hides it behind the mug of tea he made for himself but he caught the gentle quirk of his lips nonetheless. Haruka has been doing that more often—letting himself smile in amusement. He’s pretty sure Haruka hasn’t noticed but he has.

“It’s really not that bad,” Haruka unsuccessfully tries to reassures him.

“Oh yeah?” His brow rises in skepticism, “When’s the last time _you_ went to the dentist?”

Haruka shrugs flippantly, “Three weeks ago?” At his confused frown, Haruka elaborates, “Our coaches and trainers highly recommended us to get _all_ our health checkups since it’s been a year; vision, dental, routine physical, blood work; just... Everything.”

Makoto shudders at the mere mention of _blood work_ , “Sounds terrible.”

Haruka casts him a knowing look, a gentle curve once again twitching at the corners of his mouth. “You ought to get checked up too. When’s the last time you went to the optometrist? Or have blood work done?”

“Rather that than the dentist,” he mutters sourly.

Haruka snorts at his childishness and informs him in no uncertain terms that, “You’re still going to the dentist.”

He finds himself dragging his feet to the table and slouches into a seat and pouts. “Fine. But I want green curry afterwards.”

Haruka smirks in victory. “Fine. But how about we make it dinner instead? I’ll cook.”

His wide eyes land on Haruka’s passive face, “Eh? I figure we just go out for it. You don’t have to _make_ it, Haru!”

“I’ll cook, Makoto. That way, you can take home leftovers. Besides, it’s Saturday.” Haruka gives him a disapproving sidelong glance, “I know you haven’t been eating as healthy as you should be, Makoto. Just two seconds in your kitchen and I saw a wide variety of cup noodles and instant ramen. You can’t subsist on this stuff.”

He laughs dismissively, waving Haruka’s concerns away. He’s heard this refrain about a million times from multiple sources—notably from Sousuke and Haruka himself. “That’s all university students _have ever_ and _will ever_ eat. If they can survive off it, then so can I! I’ll be fine! It’s all part of that college experience!”

Haruka’s eyes harden, his voice deepening with a sharp edge that makes him shiver, “Twice a week, Makoto. Twice a week, you’ll come over to my flat and I’ll make you dinner.”

“What? Haru, really, it’s fine! That’s too much trouble!”

Haruka sucks in a noisy breath, clearly annoyed at his protesting. “It’s not too much trouble. I eat too. I’ll make extra for you.” Haruka frowns as he transfers the toast and scrambled eggs onto a yellow ceramic plate. “I should have done this when we first started uni.” Haruka glances at the Tachibana family photo sitting across the living room and mumbles regretfully, “Obasan, please forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive! Seriously Haru, this is unnecessary.” He really doesn’t _need_  Haruka to do all this. He’s adult-ish. He can take care of himself. Well, when he remembers to anyway. (Completely ignoring the fact that just a week ago, he didn’t even know what kind of rice to get.)

Haruka slides the plate over to him and plants his hands firmly on the table, hovering over him with steely, unrelenting eyes. He pokes him sharply in the chest, “ ** _Twice_**  a week, Makoto,” the hardness in Haruka's voice left no room for argument. But then his face softens— _infinitesimally_ , of course, that only someone with a twenty year friendship with could ever possibly notice. “You’re so concerned with taking care of everyone else. You _need_ to take care of yourself. But if you won’t to do it properly, I’ll do it for you.”

He sinks into his seat and concedes, trying to not let the dopey grin break out across his cheeks. “Twice a wee—”

Haruka quickly interjects before he finishes, “And that’s  _not_ including our standing Saturday dinner.”

Their standing Saturday dinners were put in place after Haruka nearly had a heart attack in the middle of their first semester at the amount of instant ramen and junk food he had stuffed in his cupboards. He’s slightly better at it now but still, after that, Haruka insisted that he have _at least_ one healthy meal a week. But now, it seems like Haruka has deemed it insufficient if he’s dead set on tripling it.

“So  _three_ times a week?”

Haruka nods firmly, “ _Three_ times a week. Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. I’ll make something other than mackerel.”

“But… There’s school and studying and training and stuff, Haru!”  _What am I doing_? _I’ve already agreed to twice a week. What’s one extra day?  
_

Haruka straightens up. Folding his arms across his chest, Haruka _daring_  him to defy him. “I’ll make time. _**You’ll**_ make time. Your health is more important than what grade you get in your biology class.”

“But Haru…!” 

Haruka’s annoyance over his objections reaches the breaking point. Haruka snaps his dark, unyielding eyes at him, his glare burning right through him and he can’t help but shrink and flinch under the unwavering gaze. That hasn’t happened since _middle school_. It’s not that he _doesn’t_ want to have these dinners with Haruka because he does. _He really, really does_. Time with Haruka since they moved to Tokyo have been too far and too few in between. That first year in particular was especially rough as they adjusted to their new routines—routines that didn’t include the other. Sure, they tried to meet up as often as possible but they also had to cancel more often than either one of them would have liked. So if he can see Haruka for a minimum of three times a week, he’d gladly jump on it. And Haruka’s wizardry in the kitchen is something to behold.

And then there’s the fact that he just simply _misses his best friend_. They attend different schools and have vastly different schedules. And even though they don’t live very far from each other—ten minutes by train—they don’t exactly live Iwatobi close either. As a result, it’s been really hard to carve out time for one another. He isn’t sure how feasible it is to do dinner three times a week considering Haruka’s training and his own busy school schedule. But here Haruka is, determined to change that fact; making that extra effort and for some reason, it quells the heat in his chest, soothing him. It also makes his heart beat a little harder, a little faster.

So he happily yields to Haruka’s demands. If Haruka is determined to do this, then so is he. He’s certainly not going to look the gift horse in the mouth.

Haruka nods, a small, victorious smile crinkling at his eyes—as if he knew what he concluded in his head not two seconds ago. Which, to be fair, Haruka probably did. That’s what happens after two decades of friendship. “Good. Now, eat your breakfast.”

“What about you?”

“I already ate.”

“Lemme guess, mackerel?” His eyes crinkle in amusement.

Haruka arches a challenging eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

Makoto waves his fork in Haruka's direction, his tone teasing and admonishing at the same time. “You know, you lecture me about _my_ diet but _you’re_ training to be a professional athlete, Haru. You can’t subsist on just mackerel.” Haruka aims _another_ glare at him. But he knows what this particular one means— _how dare you disparage the benefits of mackerel._ So where others would wither under the intense gaze, he remains unfazed—unlike earlier. Two decades worth of friendship has rendered him immune to _this_ one. “You need protein and shit like that. But you know, not that powder crap Gou tried to force on us.” He shudders for effect.

Haruka props his elbows on the table, a half scowl tugging at his lips. “For your information, I _do_ eat things other than mackerel. My trainer has me on a diet so I’m not eating mackerel every meal.”

He laughs at Haruka’s grumbling, knowing how perturbed he is at _not_ being able to eat mackerel for every meal.

Haruka leans against his palm and huffs at his reaction. He glances down at the eggs he was scooping up with his fork. With amusement coloring his voice, Haruka says, “I’m surprised you even had eggs.”

“Hey, I can fry an egg. …That I put on top of my ramen,” Makoto mumbles in one long breath.

Haruka’s chest visibly sinks in disappointment as he hangs his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Hey, I really am doing better!” His eyes brighten as he proudly informs him, “Just last week, I didn’t even _have_ eggs in my refrigerator.”

Makoto doesn’t understand _how_ he does it, but the gasp Haruka lets out is half mocking, half amused, and half genuinely impressed ( _oh, wait, that might be one too many halves_ ). “Wow, that is truly an astounding accomplishment. Do you want a gold medal for that?”

Now he knows Haruka is mocking him but he plays along anyway because this side of Haruka is a rare sight. “They make those?"

Haruka huffs out an amused snort but quickly stops himself from further laughter. “Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“You’re sounding more and more like Sousuke,” he grins cheekily at his best friend.

Haruka sucks his teeth at the comparison and levels him with a death glare. He quickly shoves a bit of egg and toast into his mouth to stop the smile from forming and the chuckles from spilling out.

Twenty years of friendship may have made him immune a variety of Haruka’s glares but it doesn’t mean he _likes_ being on the receiving end of them.

Well, okay, maybe sometimes. 

* * *

Haruka approaches the reception desk, his fingers calmly curled around his wrist to prevent him from running away, “Ten-thirty appointment for Tachibana Makoto.”

The receptionist checks the schedule and nods, “First time here, right?” Haruka nods in confirmation, “Please fill these forms out.”

Haruka grabs the pen and clipboard and pulls Makoto towards the seats and hands him the forms. “You’re not going to run away, are you?”

His green eyes roll in annoyance and, upon breaking his hold on him, he snatches the clipboard from his hands, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Makoto diligently fills out the numerous forms (“ _Makoto, it’s not that difficult to complete. You know all this information. Stop stalling_.”) but when he gets to the emergency contact section, he pauses. Is he supposed to list his mom? His parents? But if there really _is_ an emergency, there’s not much they can do considering they’re on the _other side of the country_. His eyes slide over to the quiet, raven haired man sprawled next to him.

He pokes a bicep with the pen, “Haru?”

“Makoto,” Haruka rumbles lowly without looking up.

He purses his lips. “Can I list you as my emergency contact?”

Haruka lifts his head, rolling and tilting it to the side to stare at him intently. He blows his hair out of his face as bright blue eyes rove over his face as if searching for something. He must have found it because he nods, “Your parents are too far away to be of any help if an actual emergency does occur.”

Makoto smiles faintly at Haruka echoing his earlier thoughts. It’s good to know that despite everything, they are still on the same wavelength. “You do realize that you have to actually _answer_ the phone, right? Even from unfamiliar numbers?”

Haruka grunts in displeasure, lightly kicking his ankle as his head lolls back against the cushioned seat, “I know that.”  _I'm getting better at that_.

He nods in agreement—Haruka has been better at having his phone with him _and_ answering. Although, sometimes, he does have his lapses. Especially when the caller ID shows that it’s Rin calling. Which is to be expected since they prefer to antagonize each other than actually play at being friends. Thankfully, Haruka never dodges his calls.

Haruka lifts his head again, knocking their knees together, “By the way, you’re my emergency contact too. For, well, everything.”

His eyes widen to the size of saucers, “Me? But your parents—”

“Are in Tokyo, sure,” he shrugs a shoulder. “But they travel too much. Too unpredictable.”

He nods in understanding, “I suppose…” But then he’s overcome with anxiety and nervousness at the prospect of getting such a phone call. “Oh, Haru! This is too much responsibility! I don’t think I’m right for this kind of—”

Haruka quickly quashes his panic, expertly grasping his flailing arms from the air—before he hurts himself or pulls something—and gently squeezes his wrist in a reassuring and soothing manner. He can feel the tingling burn of Haruka’s cool palm against his skin. Even through the thick sweater. And there it is again; the abrupt change in the pitter-patter of his heart.

Before he can examine it further, he re-focuses on Haruka, who’s still speaking. “-oto, calm down. You’ll be fine. You’re the most responsible human being I’ve ever known. Who but you could I have as my emergency contact? Besides, you know you’d hate it if you _weren’t_ the first person to know if something happened to me.”

The corner of his droopy eyes crinkle as he smiles brightly at him, clutching Haruka’s hands to his chest and nearly blubbering, “I don’t know what to say, Haru. I’m… I’m honored!”

Haruka yanks his hands from him and huffs noisily, his exhalation sounding pained and strangled. He interprets that as Haruka being embarrassed and annoyed at the display.

“Idiot,” Haruka grumbles and looks away, “Aren’t you done with those forms yet?”

He looks down at the clipboard at his lap, “Oh, right.” 

He quickly fills in the emergency contact portion—he knows Haruka’s number by heart—and leaps up from his seat and returns the completed forms to the receptionist. For the first time, he notices that the waiting room is devoid of anyone else; probably because they cancelled their appointments like he wanted to.

After several minutes of them wrestling for the children's puzzle book, the receptionist calls his name. She briefly looks at him in confusion and he realizes that it’s because she checked in Haruka thinking Haruka was him. He somberly drags himself toward the door. Looking back at Haruka forlornly, he silently pleads with his eyes for one last chance of respite but Haruka merely rolls his eyes at him in return. _So mean,_ he thinks to himself.

Of course, x-rays are first. Makoto settles into the deceptively comfortable chair and before long, the dental assistant asks him to open his mouth. Fingers and hard, angular plastics are shoved in and it's tempting to bite the fingers currently torturing him than the piece of plastic he’s been directed to. He reluctantly bites down on the plastic and forces himself to stay still—the last thing he wants is to move, ruin the x-ray and having to do this all over again. After a short wait, the dentist goes over the x-rays, and, blah, blah, blah—he ceases to pay attention after she said that there’s no decay or infection or any other bad stuff and that his teeth are aligned “perfectly.”

Next: teeth cleaning. Now, teeth cleaning is equally torturous—if not more so because the dentist checks for cavities at the same time. His mouth is pried open longer than is necessary and he can feel himself drooling. There’s all kinds of things happening: the sharp metal hooked tool is shoved in his mouth along with the small angled mirror. And then there’s the spit-sucking-device-thing. He has always thought that spit-sucking-device-thing is totally gross. And he winces every time the drill hits a particularly sensitive tooth—which, if you ask him, is all of them. 

Instead of worrying and concentrating on the poking and prodding happening in his oral cavity, he distracts himself by wondering what Haruka is doing while he waits for him. He realizes that he finds himself wondering about that a lot recently. It’s bizarre. But whatever. It’s a good distraction for the time being. 

Is Haruka... watching the re-run of that terrible day time talk show that was on before he was called in? Or maybe he was reading one of the multitudes of needlessly gossipy—and awful—magazines littering the tiny table in the waiting area. Or perhaps he’s solving one of those children’s puzzles they were fighting over earlier. Any of those choices would still be infinitely better than him sitting here with his mouth gaping open with a sore jaw and choking on his own drool.

It leads him to have an imaginary conversation with Haruka, wondering what he would say if he knew what he was thinking.

“You’re being dramatic, Makoto.”  _Am not. I’m not the only one that doesn’t like going to the dentist_. _There’s a reason why people hate it.  
_

“You’re not choking on your own drool, Makoto. That’s what the straw is for.”  _Then why can I feel wads of slimy spit sliding down my throat?_

“It’s only for a little bit. Just bear with it, Makoto.”  _Well, it feels like an eternity when you’re subjected to torture._

He sighs. This isn’t working. He flinches every time the metal grinds and grates at his enamel and it makes his teeth and gums tingle all the way up to his skull and it’s really un-freaking-comfortable. He flexes his fingers, his hands curling into fists and just as he’s about to let out a silent scream, the dentist pulls away, informing him that she’s finished and that he has no cavities (sarcastic-yay!).

She helps him sit up and he rinses his mouth. The water sloshes around his mouth in a gross mixture that makes him want to gag. He hastily spits and refills the tiny paper cup with more water—desperate to rid his mouth of that funny, dry, and grainy feeling. It takes several more rinses before he’s satisfied. And even then, he can still _**feel**_ it.

He jumps out of the deceptively comfy chair, eager to get the fuck out as soon as possible. He bursts through the door, startling Haruka and two new patients in the waiting area, and drags Haruka out the building. Halfway out the door, he hears the dental assistant’s voice progressively getting louder and louder as she hurriedly reminds him to “ _Wait 30 minutes before eating!”_

* * *

Haruka snorts and smiles in amusement, “Of course your teeth are perfect. Your smile is your trademark. It would be blasphemous for it to be anything less than that.”

He frowns in displeasure, “It’s not… I can’t help it...” he pauses, his frown deepening, “Do I really smile _that_ much?”

Haruka swirls his chopsticks in his kitsune soba, slurping a large chunk of it from the bowl. He swallows quickly and throws him a disbelieving look. “You can’t _possibly_ be upset by that. It’s just the truth. Makoto and smiles go together like mackerel and pineapple. It’s the natural order of things.”

 _How are mackerel and pineapple the natural order of things_? His head limply drops to the side and shoots Haruka his own incredulous look, “Did you just compare me to _mackerel_ and _pineapples_?!”

Haruka dabs the corner of his mouth with the crumpled napkin and reiterates slowly, “I compared you and _smiles_ to mackerel and pineapples.”

Makoto rests against his propped hand, picking at his tanuki udon all while pouting, “I’m not sure if I ought to be flattered or insulted.”

Haruka raises his eyebrow at him, _what do you think_? He playfully rolls his eyes. He knows Haruka _thinks_ he should be flattered and in a way, he is because it’s Haruka and mackerel. But then again… it’s  _mackerel_. He couldn’t have chosen something just a tiny bit cooler? 

Haruka flicks his chopsticks in his direction, “Finish your lunch. I need to get groceries for the week.”  _I’ll need a pack mule_.

He smiles widely; he can feel his face splitting in half, his teeth gleaming a little brighter than usual, which was to be expected, all things considered. “I’d be more than happy to be of service! Especially since you’re going through all the trouble of cooking.” Makoto bites the inside of his cheek, all of a sudden feeling _bashful_ , which is nonsensical because this is Haruka and it’s not as if he hasn’t cooked for him before. Again, bizarre.

He shakes out of his reverie; squashing down and ignoring the peculiar, flippy-floppy, funny business that’s happening in his chest cavity and stomach for what feels like the tenth time today because now is not the time to go off tangent. Instead, he leans over the table, swiping some tofu from Haruka’s bowl and popping it in his mouth, disregarding Haruka’s indignant _hey, you thief_!

“Thanks for looking out for me, Haru. Really. I… I appreciate it.”

_I appreciate you_ is what he really means and he’s positive Haruka interpreted exactly that because he looks embarrassed by unnecessary show of affection if the light blush splashed over his cheeks is anything to go by. He decides he likes this look on Haruka. It’s not the first time he’s seen it but the rarity in such a reaction spikes his curiosity. He determines that an experiment is in order for him to work out exactly what else will elicit such a reaction. 

Haruka hurriedly looks away and mumbles, “Whatever. Hurry up and finish your lunch.”

* * *

He feels—rather than hears—Haruka sigh for what’s likely the millionth time today. Haruka clasps his wrist to prevent him from dropping the bag of chocolates into the quickly filling cart. “No, Makoto. Put it back.”

“But—!”

Haruka cuts him off before he can finish his complaint. He stands resolutely and grabs the bag from his hands. His usual flat voice rumbles through him and rattles at his core. “No snacks.”

He continues to whine, “It’s movie night!”

“I don't care.” Haruka throws the chocolates back into the bin and jerks his head, indicating for him to follow along. “You eat enough junk as it is. You can get some dried squid or nori maki but no candy or chips.”

He puts on his best scowl but still pushes the cart after him. “You are so mean.”

“I’m trying to save you from diabetes and some other terrible heart disease.” Haruka grumbles over his shoulder, “If you have a problem with that, take it up with your mother.”

“This isn’t fair,” he pouts but reluctantly meanders behind him.

“Nothing ever is,” Haruka shrugs flippantly, “So stop complaining.”

Haruka turns into the next aisle, scans the shelves before looking up at the highest shelf and sighs in exasperation. “Damn it,” he mutters and huffs as he turns to him, “Makoto. I need your help.” Haruka nods to the topmost shelf, “The shrimp paste.”

Makoto glances up and snorts to himself; the shrimp paste is well within Haruka’s reach, he just doesn’t want to be bothered. But it’s okay because he likes being helpful. Especially since he isn’t much help in the kitchen. He quickly reaches up for it but before he can pull it off the shelf, Haruka tuts at him.

“No, not that one. The one on the right.” He moves his hand a few centimeters to the right and grabs the one Haruka wants.

He looks at the jar of paste curiously before dropping it into the cart, “What’s the difference?”

Haruka nods at the rejected paste and explains, “The other one is too gummy. Makes it tastes funny. The texture’s all… off.”

“What’s it for anyway?” His eyes light up as he remembers what he'd seen his mother use the paste for. “Oo, fried rice?”

Haruka's lip twitches at his child-like excitement, “If you want me to, sure. But it’s actually for the curry.”

“There’s shrimp paste in curry?”

Haruka shoots him an indiscernible look, “There’s a lot of things in curry.”

They head to the back of the market, toward the meat counter, while Haruka mentally runs through the checklist of the needed groceries. “Chicken or pork?”

“What?”

They stop in front of the butcher, “Protein for the curry. Chicken or pork?”

“Oh. Ah…” He furrows his brows as he remembers having pork three times within the last week. “Chicken. Kinda tired of pork.”

Haruka slyly slides his eyes toward him (as if _that_ were enough to convince him) and suggests that he “can always choose fish…”   

He narrows his eyes sternly, “ _Chicken_ , Haru.”

Haruka pouts in disappointment, “Fine. Dark or light meat?”

“Dark,” he automatically answers but then thinks twice about it, “Or maybe light would be better?”

Haruka dismisses his wishy-washy-ness and asks the butcher for two kilograms of boneless thighs. Haruka takes stock of the cart—it’s small but full—and frowns. “I’m missing something.”

He glances at the cart in confusion. There’s a small mountain threatening to topple over. “How can you even tell?” _And how are we going to get all this stuff back to the apartment for that matter? Also, this isn’t all for the green curry, right? Because if it is, it seems like a lot of work_.

Haruka glances over at him, “Relax. It’s for the rest of the week.” Haruka returns to scanning the overflowing cart with a inscrutable look and rolls his eyes at himself when he realizes what he’d forgotten. “Coconut milk.”

He pushes the cart, following Haruka into the next aisle as he adds the coconut milk into the ever growing pile. Makoto grows increasingly worried at the overflowing cart, “Are you sure all this is going to fit in your kitchen, Haru?”

“Hmm?” Haruka looks at back him, his eyes bouncing from his face to the cart and back again. “It’s fine. I have the space.”

As they pile the groceries onto the checkout line, they bicker over who will be paying; _you’re cooking, Haru! It’s the least I can do_! and _it’s a whole week’s worth. I’ll be eating too, Makoto_ are argued. They eventually reach a compromise and split the costs.

…Which led to _another_ small squabble with him insisting on a 60-40 split with him paying the 60 but Haruka staunchly refuses those terms and immediately shoots it down—calling for an even split instead. Which he begrudgingly relents to because otherwise, they could argue about this for the rest of the day.

He does make a promise that the next time this comes up, he’ll fight with him a little harder. 

* * *

Haruka shuffles into the living room in his slippers with a clean dish towel in his hands. “Where’d you put the basil?”

He tilts his head, his face furrowing with bewilderment, “Uh… What does basil look like?”

Haruka blinks at him, his crinkled brows deepening, “Sometimes, I really worry about you, Makoto.” He turns back to the kitchen and rummages around the refrigerator and pulls out what he assumes is the basil he was looking for.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Haruka adamantly shakes his head, insistent on not letting him anywhere near the kitchen. “No. Just... Stay there.”

He waits until Haruka looks at him again and aims a pout in his direction as he complains, “But I feel so useless doing nothing.”

He knows the _exact_ moment Haruka caves. Haruka exhales loudly and nods, unable to deny him anything when he’s pouting like this. “I did laundry yesterday. I guess you can fold?”

“Done!”

He races to Haruka’s bedroom and grabs the laundry basket. Returning to the living room with the basket, a large mound of colorful cotton brimming over the top, Makoto hums happily at being put to use. He shakes his head at the pile of freshly washed clothes. It looks like all of Haruka’s jammers were laundered as well. And it looks like he got a few new pairs to boot.

“Hey, Haru? How many pairs of identical jammers do you have now?”

Haruka shrugs nonchalantly, “They’re _not_ identical. They all fit and feel different. I think I’m up to 14 now.”

“F-fourteen?!” He sputters incredulously, “Haru… no one needs that many!”

Haruka’s brows scrunch together in objection, “I do.”

“You have more pairs of jammers than underwear! I know because I am **_literally_** holding your laundry in my hands!” He shakes a handful of jammers in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other.

Haruka stares blankly at Makoto’s fistful of clothes. “Your point?”

Makoto lowers his arms and tosses his jammers back on the couch. “You need underwear! Jammers are not an acceptable substitute for underwear!”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Haruka really doesn’t see the issue.

He whines in distress, “Haru!”

“Are you staying over tonight?”

Makoto does a double take. Leave it Haruka to abruptly change the subject. That signals the end of that conversation and he sighs. “I guess that depends on how late it gets.”

Normally, he’d feel bad about imposing but he knows Haruka doesn’t mind having him over. Besides, he isn’t about to turn down spending time with Haruka. He realizes that he’s gotten rather greedy and selfish with his time with Haruka since they moved to Tokyo. Well, whenever they _actually get time together_. And after today, it appears that there will be more instances of it.

“I don’t have the futon. Sousuke stole it,” Haruka grouchily informs him.

“He what?”

“His brother or sister or cousin or _whatever_ came to visit so he borrowed it. He hasn’t given it back. So we’re either going to have to share the bed or one of us takes the couch.”

Makoto glances at the tiny couch and frowns. “The couch is so uncomfortable!”

“Well, there’s no way _you’ll_ fit so sharing it is.”

He shakes out the down comforter, swatting away the loose feathers, spitting the ones that flew in his mouth and sneezing at those that tickled his nose. Haru _really_ needs to get a new one. “You sure you don’t mind?”

There’s a rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk coming from the kitchen, no doubt from Haruka chopping the vegetables. “You ask that every time and every time I tell you the same thing, Makoto.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “I know. It’s called being polite.”

Haruka snorts, “I don’t know why you bother. We’ve known each other all our lives, Makoto. I think we’re past niceties and politeness.”

Makoto shrugs again, “We are. But it’s ingrained in me.”

“I think it’s supposed to rain.” To anyone else, it sounds like _another_ random subject change but he knows better.

“Then I guess I’m staying.” He turns at Haruka’s stifled chuckle and frowns, “What?”

There’s a tiny grin stretched across Haruka’s face as he waves him over, “Come here.”

He shuffles toward him—the half folded comforter draped over his arms, “What?” he tries again, unable to figure out just what Haruka finds so damn amusing.

Haruka rolls his eyes and grabs his collar, yanking him over the tiny breakfast bar until they were eye-to-eye. “Come _here_ ,” he repeats. Haruka reaches up and plucks a tiny feather clinging to his hair, “Feather.” The corner of his mouth twitches as Haruka presents him with the white plume.

Makoto releases a shallow breath and swallows with difficulty, “Oh.” His grip on the comforter tightens, trying to calm his nerves and shaky breathing, and remembers, “Your comforter is getting a bit thin, Haru. You should get a new one.”

Haruka goes back to stirring the curry and hums in agreement, “I’ll think about it.”

“It’s been a cold winter, Haru,” as if he needs to remind Haruka of that.

Haruka sighs at his mothering but there no real annoyance in it. Instead, he nods at the comforter still clutched in his arms and says, “Dinner is almost ready. Wash up after you finish with that.” 

* * *

Dinner and movie night goes as it usually does. He asks Haruka what he’d like to watch and Haruka says it doesn't matter so he lists off a handful of movies and, depending how Haruka’s eyebrows twitch, that’s the movie they watch. 

The dead of winter sends them scurrying to huddle under the kotatsu because it’s much warmer than huddling under a regular blanket on the couch.

It isn’t very long before he feels himself nodding off. He jerks himself awake several times but it has been a really long day. Being surrounded by the warmth from Haruka leaning against him and the kotatsu makes him increasingly drowsy. 

He doesn’t know exactly how long he nodded off for, but Haruka gently shakes him awake. “Makoto, let’s get to bed.”

Haruka sounds a bit groggy too but he’s clearly more coherent of the two. He’s having a little trouble understanding him—his consciousness is still foggy with sleep—but he lets Haruka pull him up to his feet.

“Do you need to pee?” Haruka asks as they approach the bathroom but he yawns and shakes his head. Haruka clutches his shoulders as he clumsily steers him toward the bedroom. His arm glances off the bedroom doorknob hard enough that he’s sure it’ll leave a rather impressive bruise by morning. Haruka mutters a quiet apology before letting go of his shoulders.

Makoto flops face down onto the mattress, grunting as he hits it. He can hear Haruka puttering around and he’s about to fall back asleep again when suddenly, he’s forcibly flipped over onto his back and _wow, Haru’s gotten pretty strong_...

Haruka then grabs his arms and pulls him up into a sitting position. He sways unsteadily, nearly falling back down toward the mattress but then he lurches forward, his face smushed against Haruka’s firm torso due to him yanking his shirt off.

It’s comfortable. Haruka is comfortable. And warm. And soft. And hard at the same time. He sort of just wants to wrap his arms around him and nuzzle his face into Haruka but the heavy limbs don’t seem to want to cooperate at the moment. And he wants to stay just like this because Haruka faintly smells like a combination of chlorine and this fresh, zesty citrusy-lemongrass scent. It’s comforting. It reminds him of home.

“You haven’t even showered today,” Haruka murmurs in a low, sleepy voice.

He imagines Haruka wrinkling his nose at that but it can’t be helped. After all,  _Haruka_ was the one that rushed him out of his apartment this morning and he didn’t really think about showering before or after dinner.

Haruka pulls a fresh shirt over his head, wriggling his sleepy limbs through the arm holes. He falls back onto the mattress at Haruka’s gentle push and he’s now half aware of what Haruka is trying to do—something about not wanting to sleep in jeans. The other half is still sluggish and trying to catch up. Haruka wrenches the buttons of his jeans, the metal teeth of his zipper grinding loudly.

Haruka huffs, “Come on, Makoto. You can at least _try_ a little,” he mutters irritably.

And he wants to try. ...Whatever Haruka wants him to try anyway but he can’t seem to figure out exactly what that is until Haruka is tugging his jeans at his ankles. His boxer briefs slips over a jutting hip as it catches against the denim, exposing a patch of dark, thick, wiry curls but they miraculously stay on even with Haruka yanking roughly at it. He finally gathers himself long enough to stop Haruka.

“’ve gotit,” he slurs drowsily.

Haruka throws the pajama bottoms at his chest and he finishes undressing and re-dressing himself. It takes a while though, his movements are slow and lethargic as he wriggles and flops around the bed trying to kick the denim off before sliding his legs into the appropriate openings. He finally manages to get it done after a few starts and stops so he sinks into the mattress in exhaustion.

“You put them on backwards,” Haruka bristles but he can hear the smile in his voice.

“Sh’ddup. Dun ’air. Sheepin’ now,” Makoto smacks his lips and curls up onto his side.

Haruka leaves the room, presumably to get ready for bed because, unlike him, he’s conscious enough to do so. He’s half asleep again when he feels the bed dip from Haruka’s added weight. Their legs and bare feet brush as Haruka slips under the heavy blanket and—as if they _weren’t_  in the middle of one of the harshest winters ever on record—everything feels inexplicably  _hot_. But he can’t find it within himself to dwell on it.

Not now.

Because it’s nice and warm and feels really, really good.

“Good night, Makoto,” he dimly hears Haruka’s muffled voice.

He mumbles something back. He thinks it’s good night but he can’t really be sure. Either way, it turns out to be the best night of sleep he’s had in a really long time.


	4. I'll Be Sick That Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s nice being doted on and cared for. Especially when it’s Makoto doing the doting and caring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another long delay. I either haven't really been in the mood to write or I've been really, really distracted. But it's here now. Enjoy!

The muffled—yet still loud and obnoxious—chime of the doorbell rings several times, interrupting the tranquility he had been enjoying during his usual morning bath. He imagines Makoto standing on the other side of the door, wrapped up tightly in his thick scarf and heavy green parka, jabbing his finger at the bell impatiently before moving his hand to the door knob only to find that it’s already unlocked. He doesn’t understand why Makoto insists on ringing the bell when he knows he’s in the bath. After all, he left the door unlocked for a reason. 

There’s an extended beat where he needs to come back up for air but he quickly sinks back under the water and waits for Makoto’s scheduled appearance. There’s a soft knock before the bathroom door cracks open; Makoto’s shaggy head poking into the humid room. Surprisingly, he’s without his scarf and jacket. He must have removed them before coming into the bathroom. 

Makoto’s smile stretches across his face—the bright, gleaming teeth burning his retinas. It’s been a whole week. How are his teeth still so…  _shiny_? 

“Good morning, Haru-chan,” his voice sounding like the very personification of sunshine and cheer even from under the water. 

Haruka breaks through the surface and shakes his head, flicking the water dripping from his hair and huffs at Makoto. “Drop the -chan,” the familiar refrain is muttered predictably. He reaches for Makoto’s outstretched hand, hanging his head as he does so. But he quickly looks up, startled and confused, when he hears Makoto’s strangled, high-pitched squeak.

“You’re…!” Makoto gestures inarticulately in his direction.

He glances down at himself.

 _Oh_. Right.

He doesn’t see why it elicited such a strong reaction but then again, Makoto has always been more easily rattled than himself. He shrugs, “All my jammers need to be washed. Let’s go to the mall and get some more.”

Makoto’s eyes widen incredulously. His disbelief painfully evident on his face. “You have 14 pairs!” 

He takes a step, ready to argue for it if need be. “I need more.”

Makoto stomps an admonishing foot and whining childishly, “You have more than enough, Haru!” 

He advances on Makoto again, invading his space and forcing Makoto to take his own stumbling step back. “Obviously not; considering I’m standing here naked,” he gestures at himself with a flourish—unintentionally drawing Makoto’s attention back to his slick, bare form. 

Makoto, again, squeaks—sputtering at his matter of factness—as if he had forgotten that he was carrying a conversation with his naked and dripping best friend. Makoto hastily yanks a large towel from the hook and thrusts it at him, his face red with embarrassment. 

He accepts the proffered towel with a lopsided frown. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before, Makoto.” 

“This is a completely different scenario!” Makoto squawks indignantly. 

He sighs, failing to see how. Makoto can be so weird sometimes.

“I’m just… going to, uh, yeah, go and just let you… whatever.” Makoto scurries out of the bathroom in a rush; yelping shrilly on his way out as his shoulder audibly  _slams_ painfully into the door jam in his haste to leave. 

He shakes his head in amusement at Makoto’s uncoordinated and graceless exit but rubs the towel over his wet hair. He ignores his flushing chest when he remembers the way Makoto’s vibrant greens widened as his eyes unconsciously lingered over him. It’s a look he’s only recently gotten to know. Correction: it’s a look that’s always been there—lurking just below the surface but recently, it’s floated right to the top. The dark shimmer has grown in frequency and intensity and he’s still trying to figure out what exactly it could mean. 

He shakes out of his thoughts and quickly dresses. When he next finds Makoto, he’s sitting on the couch, channel surfing mindlessly—evidence of his earlier embarrassment still apparent on his cheeks. He wrings the last bits of water from his hair with a towel and flops down next to Makoto. He smooths out the tousled strands and grabs the remote from Makoto’s hand. Their fingers barely graze against each other but it still manages to leave a scorching trail of goosebumps in its wake. 

He frowns at said fingers, glaring at them as if they committed some horribly unforgivable atrocity. His brows furrow deeply as he tries to decipher the mystery of the sudden and not-so-sudden surge of warmth whenever he and Makoto touch. It’s a bit frustrating—not to mention baffling—that these instances of Makoto invading his thoughts keep occurring for no apparent reason. He snaps out of his inner musings when Makoto’s voice breaks through his haze. 

“-mail from Rin?” Makoto inquires, the redness from his face finally fading into a rosy pink. 

He only heard half the question but he easily deciphers Makoto’s words, “There was an email?” 

After graduation, Rin returned to Australia to continue his training. However, unlike last time, he regularly stays in contact with everyone instead of being a douchey bag of dicks and wallowing in a pit of despair and reeking of bitterness. Email and Skype is the most common form of communication mostly because he tends to ignore Rin’s calls. And Rin knows that if anything, Makoto will be able to track him down and get him to sit down for a hour or two to have an actual conversation. 

For the most part. 

Because even in Tokyo, it’s a safe bet that if you want to find one, you just have to find the other. It just… takes a bit longer nowadays. 

Makoto rakes a large hand over his face, frustration coloring his movements. “Haru! Honestly, you need to check your mail!” 

His eyes quickly dart from the television to Makoto’s exasperated face. “Why bother? You’ll tell me all about it anyway.” 

Makoto exhales noisily, Haruka clearly testing his patience. “That’s besides the point. It’s just polite to read and respond to emails when someone has taken the time to write to you!” 

He shrugs indifferently, “It’s Rin.” 

“Haru…” Makoto sighs heavily.

“So?” he asks. Not so much because he was looking for an actual answer but more to get Makoto to stop reprimanding him. 

“So… What?” 

He huffs impatiently at Makoto, “So what did Rin’s email say?” 

“Oh. Right. Yeah. He says that he’ll be here next week and he wants to meet up to celebrate his birthday.” 

Haruka scowls when he remembers the last time Rin had been in Tokyo. Rin had heavily implied that he had chosen Tokyo because he didn’t want to let go of his friendship with Makoto. He can’t even remember what prompted that line of conversation but it annoyed him enough for him to forcefully dispel Rin of that misconception rather than simply glare at him in silence. 

“Did you seriously just reduce the single most important decision I’ve ever made in my life as a _whim_? You honesty think I, what, _followed_ Makoto to Tokyo? That I didn’t think things through? That I just went, ‘ _yeah, whatever, Tokyo is good enough?_ ’ I did my research and made my lists. I considered _all_  the options made available to me. And, okay, I admit, with all else being equal, Makoto being in Tokyo did tip the scale in its favor. But if you think for _one_ moment that if all things _weren’t_ equal; that if there had been a program that offered something _more—_ something _better—_ and I _still_ chose Tokyo simply because Makoto is here, then you’re an idiot. And another thing! It is insulting to me _and_ toMakoto for you to insinuate that I’m so insecure of my friendship with him that I would willfully disregard everything else.” 

It was a spectacular rant that left Rin completely speechless; due to both the _content_ and _length_ of the rant. It probably really was the most he’s ever said to him in one go. And yes, he knew Rin most likely meant it as a joke but it still grated him enough that he felt compelled to set him straight. Because he _didn’t_ take this decision lightly. He took the time and visited each and _**every**_ university—toured all the campuses—that offered him a full scholarship. He _agonized_ over it up until the very last second. And it was a shit move for Rin to discredit that, joke or not. So if his rant made Rin feel like an ass, well, then, _good_. 

Fact: Makoto is his best friend.  
Fact: They’ve known each other since they were in diapers.  
Fact: They’ve never gone more than a week without seeing or speaking each other. 

All this is true and he isn’t denying that. These are indisputable facts. But two decades of friendship doesn’t fall by the wayside just because they don’t see or speak to each other everyday.  
Yes, it would have been hard.  
Yes, it would have been lonely.  
Yes, it would have been several orders of magnitude in suckage.  _But they would’ve survived._ Because no amount of distance erases a lifelong friendship like theirs. 

And sure, friendships change. Because people change. They grow and learn. Experience shapes and informs them. People grow apart. Friendships grow apart; he’s not naive enough to think otherwise. But you don’t ignore or forget a friendship like the one he and Makoto have no matter how much you change. And _Rin_ , of _all_ people, should understand that. He should have known better than to trivially reduce a major, life-changing decision. That unbelievable ass. 

Besides, after Rin dragged him off to Sydney, he realized just how big the world really is. Well, he knew—conceptually, he knew—but he didn’t _know_ ; not until he experienced a mere sliver of it for himself. He wanted to see more of it; to experience as much as he can. And swimming professionally was the perfect outlet for this endeavor. Sydney didn’t just reaffirm his passion for swimming, it also made him realize that he needed to step out of his comfortable bubble. Just, you know, not _too_ much. And Tokyo just so happened to perfectly fit the bill: vast and unfamiliar but still recognizable. 

He tuts in irritation, “His birthday isn’t for another month.”

Makoto shrugs and nods his head, “Yeah, but he won’t be here on his _actual_ birthday so he wants to do it earlier.”

He couldn’t quite stop himself from mumbling, “So troublesome,” in time but whatever. It’s Makoto. Makoto is more than aware and familiar with his moods. 

Still, Makoto cocks his head, his mouth pursed in disapproval at his reaction. “He wants to spend some time with his friends. Is that really so bad? Besides, he didn’t get to come home for his 20th and was pretty bummed about it. You know Rin; he likes milestones and since he didn’t get to celebrate it last year, he’s making it up this year. We’ll just celebrating his 21st instead. It’ll be a year late but,” he shrugs as he tries to grasp the correct word but ultimately settling for, “it’s Rin.”

Haruka clicks his tongue at the explanation. Rin could stand to be a little less sentimental. “He won’t even _be_ 21 when he comes.”

“Yeah… Sousuke and I both pointed that out too but Rin is bound and determined to see this through so what can you do?” Makoto shrugs with a fond grin. 

But Haruka turns away and disregards the look. “Was that it?”

“Was what it?”

 _Really? Again? Are you even paying attention to the conversation, Makoto?_  “The email, Makoto. Was that all he wanted?”

“Oh! Ah, no. He has a whole itinerary.”

 _Of course there’s an itinerary._ Rin just can’t help himself, can he? “See? Troublesome.” He turns away, pointedly ignoring Makoto’s continued disapproving frown. 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Makoto continues on as if he hadn’t interrupted, “Sousuke is picking him up from the airport.”

Upon graduating, Sousuke took some time off to rehab his shoulder after having it surgically repaired. After _a lot_ of hand wringing and late night discussions with Makoto—going over the pros and cons of all his options—Sousuke enrolled in the same university as Makoto. He felt that it was the best school for what he wanted to accomplish. He and Makoto became fast friends toward the end of high school and Yamazaki turned to Makoto for advice regarding his future.

He couldn’t go to Rin because Rin was (and still _is_ ) under the delusion that Sousuke will be able to come back from the injury and compete on a professional level. But Sousuke has long accepted that he’s no longer be able to swim competitively. He’s made his peace with it and is happy with where he is now. Especially since he decided to pursue a future in the vein of sports trainer/physical/rehabilitation therapist.

Besides, it doesn’t mean he _stopped_ swimming. He still partakes in recreational swimming whenever he and Makoto find time during their busy days. And that’s the one sore point he has regarding Sousuke: it annoys him immensely that Sousuke can go swimming with Makoto whenever they feel like it while he can’t. He spends all day in a pool and he doesn’t get to spend any of it with his best friend. Otherwise, they’ve reconciled their differences and are actually rather friendly to each other. Well, outside of the _massive_ amounts of snark that underlies each and every interaction they have, which, surprisingly, is pretty often. If your definition of _pretty often_ means two, maybe three times a month. Which, for him, it is.

He turns his attention to the annoying hangnail on his finger. It had been bothering him since yesterday. “Is that such a good idea? He can’t even find his way out of a wet paper bag.”

“Haru!” Makoto exclaims in shock and dismay.

He looks up sharply, “What? It’s true. Rin would agree. _Yamazaki_ would agree.” Makoto would agree too. He’s just too polite to say anything that would offend. Even though the man in question isn’t here to be offended.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Makoto’s exasperation rears its head again, “Rin originally wanted to go to a club. Mostly, I think he just wants to go drinking, which is weird because he’s 20. If he really wants to drink, he doesn’t have to go to club, you know?” His brows turn downward as he tries to remember his train of thought from before his tangent. He smiles and nods when he finds it, “But he settled for karaoke since he didn’t want ‘a bunch of guys perving on my baby sister.’ We tried explaining that Gou is an adult and can handle herself but I don't think he was listening.”

 _Oh, great. Terrible, off-key, uncoordinated singing. That sounds like a grand time. This is asinine. This plan is asinine. Rin is asinine. Stupid Rin._  He remembers the _last_ _time_ he was dragged off to karaoke. It’s not something he’s interested in doing again. He rather go to a club. Scratch that. The mere thought of clubbing makes him want to cry. There’s really no winning here.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m going to make it. I’m scheduled to be sick that day. But have a good time. And let everyone know how sorry I am.”

Makoto glowers at him under his shaggy, brown fringe, “Don’t be mean, Haru. It’s Rin’s birthday. He can do what he wants for one day.”

“It won’t even _be_ his birthday.” At this point, Haruka is aware that he’s whining, but he doesn’t really care because it’s Makoto. He doesn’t need to put up a front with Makoto because Makoto has seen worse from him.

“You know what I mean. Stop being a butt.” He huffs but nods for Makoto to continue. “And Nagisa _really_ wanted to karaoke. Which is weird because you’d think he’d be more interested in the club.”

Haruka understands Kou’s presence but “Nagisa too?” 

Makoto shrugs nonchalantly at his inquiry, “It’s just for the weekend. Rin wanted to fly Gou out from Iwatobi but couldn’t find a decent flight so she’s taking the train. She’ll swing by Osaka and ride out with Nagisa. We’ll meet them at the station. With Rei.”

Rei received a generous scholarship from Tokyo University for mechanical engineering and lives about five minutes from his campus. They find time to meet up whenever the stars and planets align and Rei _isn’t_ buried under a mountain of textbooks and Makoto _isn’t_ swamped with projects or study groups and Haruka  _isn’t_ at practice or at a meet. A lot has to go right in order for all of them to hang out but they make the effort. Sometimes, Sousuke would tag along too but that requires additional stars, planets, comets, and meteors aligning so it doesn’t happen all too often.

Nagisa decided to go to a university in Osaka (undeclared, of course); whining every time they Skype that they’re too far away. He’s working on transferring to a closer university but it’ll be a long and arduous process. Especially considering his free-wheeling, undeclared status.

Meanwhile, Kou was content on staying in Iwatobi for the time being so she’s attending a local university—also undeclared—but leaning toward becoming personal trainer since she really seemed to enjoy shouting at them when she was managing the Iwatobi high swim team. And muscles. The muscles may—definitely—have something to do her sort of, kind of chosen profession. Eventually, she’ll be transferring too. Maybe. It’s really unclear.

Haruka’s concentration returns just in time to hear the rest of Rin’s plans.

“—and then we’ll have a quick dinner with Rin and Sousuke at the restaurant. Of Rin’s choice, of course. And then Kisumi’s gonna meet us at the karaoke lounge and—”

He nearly chokes on his own saliva at that particular bit of information. “Wait, _Shigino_  is going to this thing?”

Makoto shrugs indifferently, failing to see what the issue is, “Well, yeah. He’s close by and Rin invited him.”

He sucks in a breath and shakes his head with a frown, trying to look disappointed but failing spectacularly. Because he’s definitely not. “I definitely won’t be able to make it. I’m going to be really sick that day. Like bubonic-plague, blood-coming-out-of-my-eyeballs, body-rejecting-a-lung sick.”

“ _Haru_ ,” Makoto pushes his sleeves up his arms and sternly lectures, “stop being such a butt. It’s only for _one_ night. You can suck it up and deal.”

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw because he’s looking at the prospect of spending an entire evening with three incredibly clingy people. Well, four, he supposes but honestly, Makoto doesn’t count. He’s just… Makoto. He’s accustomed to Makoto’s touches and, despite it taking on a different quality as of late, it doesn’t register as annoyance. It never has. It’s comfortable and…  _homey._  If a touch can be considered homey. Besides, Makoto is nowhere near the other three’s level of touchiness. Unless he’s scared out of his gourd thereby turning him into a terrified kitten causing him clinging on to Haruka’s arm or shirt for dear life.

He doesn’t mind Nagisa. He doesn’t exactly _like_ it when the energetic blonde hangs off him and he would rather Nagisa  _not_ tackle him every time they meet but it’s fine. It’s just Nagisa being Nagisa. He has boundless energy that needs to be burned off somehow. It’s a mild annoyance to him but it’s also a nice reminder that he has friends that care about him.

He _tolerates_ Rin’s touches because Rin seems to have this constant need to touch _everyone_. It’s as if Rin needs to make sure that they’re there; to assure that _he, himself,_ is there. And that they’re  _all_ there together. So he indulges him. It’s understandable, considering his history. Again, he doesn’t exactly like it but it’s tolerable.

But _Shigino Kisumi_? That’s where he has to draw the line. Kisumi is like an unholy mashup of Nagisa and Rin—the constant need to touch _while_ hanging off you but purely for shits and giggles. He purposefully invades your personal space for _no_ other discernible reason other than the fact that he enjoys it and enjoys annoying people. It’s very unpleasant. And he definitely doesn’t like it and in no universe will he tolerate it. And it’s especially annoying when he clings all over and inserts himself next to Makoto— _Haruka’s_ rightful place—just to get a rise out of him.

But Makoto and Rin will drag him out regardless, bribing him with pool time and mackerel and when that doesn’t work, kicking and screaming. But since he’s too dignified for such behavior, he’ll grit his teeth and bear it all while cursing himself for having friends who are far more sociable and needy of human interaction than himself.

Haruka hesitates but finally relents, “Fine. Just for an hour. _No more than that._ ” 

He’s tempted to _smother_ Makoto with the cushion that’s resting in his lap when he grins smugly at him. “I can work with that.” Makoto’s head shoots up, remembering something else, “Oh! Rin asks if you can ask Captain Mikoshiba to come too.”

His shoulders slump. That’s just what he needs: another karaoke session with the captain. This guest list is seriously getting out of hand. Trapped in a room with every possible overwhelming personality you can find? It’s spiraling. “Seriously? He didn’t want to go to a club because of pervy guys and his sister but he’s okay with Mikoshiba there?”

Makoto bites his lip indifferently, “He  _is_ his former captain. And I thought you like Captain Mikoshiba.”

He gnaws the inside of his cheeks and explains, “I see enough of him at practice. I really don’t need to see him socially.”

Makoto stares skeptically at him, “Don’t you go to dinner with him? And bar hopping? And karaoke?”

Haruka scoffs at the question. As if any of those things were voluntary actions on his part. “Dinner is after afternoon practices and we’re starving. The bar hopping thing was because it was his birthday. And the karaoke thing was a one time thing and I was held against my will.”

Makoto nudges him with his shoulder, grinning playfully, “That’s still pretty social to me, Haru-chan.”

He scowls because it isn’t the matter of him being sociable or not; it’s just him putting in the minimum effort of getting along with his teammates.

“Besides,” Makoto scratches his cheek contemplatively, “It’s been a while since Rin saw Captain Mikoshiba. It’ll be nice.”

Haruka raises a quizzical eyebrow, “Why are _you_ calling him Captain, Makoto?”

“Well…” he frowns contemplatively, “that’s all I’ve ever known him as. And that’s who he is... It’ll be rude to call him otherwise.”

A curious twitch of his eyebrow is noticed by Makoto before he could stop it. He hums flatly, “Oh? Should I start calling you _Coach_ Tachibana then?”

In an amusing development, Makoto flushes deeply at that, “Sh-shut up.”

It’s an odd reaction and he wonders why it embarrasses Makoto so much. He pokes at his colored cheek, “Get used to it, _Coach_ Tachibana, that’ll be your title soon enough.”

Makoto knocks his finger away from his face and grits his teeth, whining like how Ren would when Ran picked on him, “Quit it.”

He sighs resignedly. Sometimes, Makoto is the party pooper. Haruka glances over at his best friend, who is still gesticulating Rin’s big plans, when Makoto cards his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. The movement draws Haruka’s attention to his forearms. He quickly loses track of what Makoto is saying, instead concentrating on the muscles flexing and shifting under his skin with the simple motion. His curiosity spikes as he wonders how the bunching muscles would feel—how _powerful_ they would feel—as they clench and twitch under his fingers. How his skin would stretch and twist to accommodate the movement.

Haruka huffs in annoyance when he catches where his thoughts had been straying to once more. These strange curiosities toward his best friend grows in intensity and frequency with each passing day. Worst of all, he seemingly has no control over the when or where or _why_  these curiosities flare up. He flops down against the seat cushions, trying to expel the Makoto-centric thoughts from his head, _again_ , and winces.

Makoto, furrowing his brow, pauses to look over. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

Makoto’s eyes slide pointedly to his shoulder and nods at him, “You haven’t stopped touching your shoulder since you sat down.”

He looks down at his shoulder and sure enough, his hand is lightly squeezing said shoulder. He exhales, “I think I pulled something during practice. I must have been sleeping on it. It’s all sore now.”

The strong scent of Makoto’s peppermint soap tickles his nose when he leans over—the urge to sneeze shuddering in his chest. Makoto maneuvers him until he sits with back facing him. “Honestly, Haru, you lecture me about taking care of myself but what about you?”

“It’s just a strain. I’m sure it’s not a big deal,” he dismisses Makoto’s worries.

“It’s never _just a strain_. Little strains can lead to big strains, can lead to tears. You can’t afford that, Mr. Star Athlete,” Makoto jabs him lightly in the shoulder.

“Fine, not a strain then. Just sore from sleeping funny,” he amends to ease Makoto’s mothering. 

Makoto digs his thumb into his shoulder blade, he flinches, pulling away and hisses lowly at Makoto but after some initial discomfort, it soon dissipates. His head lolls forward, letting Makoto work over his sore shoulder.

“Feel better?”

He hums in the affirmative and he begins to get drowsy from the steady pressure of Makoto’s warm and deft fingers kneading the corded muscles. It’s nice being doted on and cared for. Especially when it’s Makoto doing the doting and caring. Has that always been the case? _Probably_ , a voice answers back.

Makoto pinches him. “Hey, you’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

“So what if I am?” he shoots back.

“It’s rude!”

 _What? No, it’s not._  “No, it’s not. It means you’re doing a good job. You should be flattered.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“It’s relaxing. Just let me…” he trails off sleepily.

Makoto pinches him again, “ _Haru_.” 

He exhales noisily, letting Makoto hear the full weight of his exasperation. Why does he even need to be awake for this? Makoto’s hands are just so soothing and warm and he uses just the right amount of pressure and it's just really, really… 

And there it is again. That different quality of touch that confounds him more often than he’d like. So he forces himself to stay awake. _For reasons_.

Instead, he ponders out loud, “Do we have to get a gift?”

“What? You mean for Rin?”

“Yeah. I mean, maybe I can get him a bottle a beer since he wants to drink so much.”

Makoto snorts in amusement. “Just one? Not even a six pack?”

He glances over his shoulder and smiling at Makoto with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Do you honestly think Rin can handle alcohol? I bet you he’ll lose his cognitive abilities after half a beer.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t think he’d make it through **_one_** bottle?” Makoto clearly has more faith in their friend’s tolerance level but Haruka isn’t at all fooled by the redhead’s bluster.

“No. He looks like a total lightweight. He’ll probably cry too.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

He shrugs, “Go ahead. What is he going to do? Challenge me to a drinking contest? I’ll win.”

He has the utmost confidence that he would beat Rin in a hypothetical drinking contest. He’s not much of a drinker nor is he particularly fond of alcohol but Yamazaki had made some flippant remark (most likely something exceedingly stupid considering he can no longer remember what was said) during Makoto’s 20th birthday party that sparked an impromptu drinking competition between the two them. The point is, he had gone toe-to-toe with Sousuke and if he had two more kilograms to his frame, he’s certain he would have won.

Makoto shudders at the idea. “Let’s put off the drinking challenges, okay? I still get nightmares from the last time.”

Oh. Right. Makoto’s 20th birthday party was also the party that ended with Makoto and Rei dragging him and Sousuke back to their respective apartments because they got _super_ drunk. They hadn’t noticed the extent of it until about 20 minutes _after_ they stopped. That’s where his memories of that night begins to get fuzzy. Through the alcohol induced haze, he remembers Sousuke declaring victory. He remembers Makoto and Rei declaring that it’s time to go. He even remembers peeing before leaving but everything _after_ that is a big blank. His memories of that night were spotty at best. Maybe  _that’s_ why he can’t remember what Sousuke said that triggered the ill-advised contest.

Now, Haruka knows Makoto brought him home. He figured that out even _before_ he saw the lump lying on the futon next to his bed. But when he woke up with a throbbing headache the next morning, he was in his pajamas. And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he scoured his memories, he just couldn’t recall changing. So how exactly did he get in them? Was muscle memory enough for him to be able to change himself despite the drunkenness? Or did Makoto do it for him? He was informed that he did in fact _try_ to drunkenly change himself before Makoto took pity, stopped laughing, and took over. Apparently, he was cognizant enough to know that he needed to get ready for bed but not cognizant enough to actually go through the motions of properly doing so. Which, he supposes, is better than most.

Turns out, Sousuke fared no better, or possibly, ended up in a far worse situation than himself. Poor Rei was left to care for a guy that was nearly ten kilograms heavier. It probably would have made more sense had Makoto and Rei switched drunkards but he’s pretty sure Makoto didn’t trust someone else to look after him. _Even if_ that someone else was Rei.

Rei left Sousuke in his clothes though; citing that there is no way he can undress and then _re-dress_ seventy-something-almost-eighty kilograms of literal dead weight. ( _“If you didn’t want to sleep in your jeans, you shouldn’t have gotten so drunk,” Rei lectured the next day when Sousuke grumbled over waking up in the restricting denim._ )

However, Rei did stay the night to make sure Sousuke didn’t throw up and asphyxiate on his own vomit. Makoto nearly had a panic attack when he heard that that was a possibility. He had passed out soon after helping Haruka into bed and Makoto blanched in horror at the prospect of him choking on his vomit and not getting to him on time because he was too busy snoring away. Nowadays, Makoto watches him like a hawk every time they go drinking—which isn’t very often to begin with—and making sure he doesn’t drink too much when they do.

“Yeah, I’m in no hurry to relive that night either.”

“You don’t even _remember_ that night.” He can hear the gentle laughter in Makoto’s voice and he scowls.

He grumbles, “That’s the part I don’t want to relive.”

There’s something disconcerting about not remembering the things you did; especially when others begin to recount your actions. Actions that you have no recollection of. Actions that got increasingly more ludicrous the drunker he became. As he listened to Makoto and Rei’s recap of that night, he couldn’t help but feel like he was a doll with no control over his own body. As if he was a marionette at the mercy of a master puppeteer. Only… he was his own puppeteer whether or not he remembered it. It’s not a great feeling. It is _extremely_ unsettling.

“Although,” Makoto gently pokes at his ribs, “it was pretty funny watching you try to get ready for bed. You kept tripping over your own feet. It was a miracle you didn’t fall flat on your face.”

Haruka thanks every god and goddess in existence that there is no evidence of his drunken ineptitude. “I’m sure _you_ had something to do with that…” 

He hears Makoto grinning again, “Well, I wasn’t about to let you hurt yourself, was I?”

He presses his shoulder into Makoto’s hand, the  _thank you_  silently given.

Makoto ducks his head, shyly accepting his gratitude. But he quickly reverts to impossible cheerfulness. “Now that I think about it though,” Makoto’s voice vibrates in amusement, “it would have been interesting to see you work out how you got your bruises if you did fall.”

He turns his head and sees Makoto trying to hold back his teasing grin and glares at him, “I never would have pegged you for a sadist, Makoto. I guess it is true that you can’t really know a person.”

Makoto squeezes his shoulder extra hard for the sadist comment but instead of pain, it actually feels kind of nice. Maybe _he’s_ the sadist. Oh, wait, that would make him a masochist, right? Whatever. Point is, it’s nice and Makoto can complain about it all he wants but he can’t seem to bring himself to care because he feels his eyes getting heavy again.

Makoto chatters on, seemingly fine with him nodding off this time, so he slumps into the back of the couch, leaning into Makoto’s warm touch and letting his eyes drift shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might take me a while to post the next chapter because that seems to be par for the course for me nowadays... There's also the fact that Makoto-centric chapters require more of my care and attention.
> 
> The drinking age in Japan is 20. That's the milestone Rin wants to celebrate. Dweeb. 
> 
> The thought of clubbing makes me want to cry too, Haru.


	5. Skulking For Little, Old Grandmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to Haruka to know exactly what to say to make him feel at ease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now is as good a time as any to post an update, I guess. This has been a really rough week. Hell, it's been a really rough year. Absolutely dreadful. There's just one day left. Please don't be a bag of dicks...

Exasperation falls just shy of describing how he feels at the moment. He exhales in irritation as he narrows his eyes, staring down his current nemesis. Taking another deep, meditating breath, he wipes the thin sheen of sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Earlier, he had become restless and the quietness of the large, empty apartment was unnerving, not to mention eerie, so he decided to make himself useful by tidying up. He dusted and straightened out the various textbooks scattered all over the apartment and now, he’s in the middle of polishing a particularly stubborn scuff mark on the dining table. It’s a losing battle.

But then he hears the metal key grind against the lock and perks up. Looking up, he greets a surprised Haruka with the biggest, brightest, most dazzling smile he has available in his arsenal. “Okaeri, Haru-chan.”

Half unzipped, Haruka freezes in place as he clearly wasn’t expecting him or his greeting and blinks in confusion before accepting his presence. “Tadaima. Drop the -chan.” He resumes shrugging out of the thick, navy blue bomber jacket. “You’re here early,” he quietly observes as he slips out of his boots. 

Makoto shrugs and turns his focus back on polishing that darn spot on the corner of the table. “Class ended early. Everyone else was still stuck in class and I had nothing better to do. So I figured I’d drop by earlier today.”  

“I see.” 

Makoto lets out an embarrassingly loud, frightful shriek and jumps out of his skin at the sound of his voice. Somehow, Haruka has developed some serious ninja skills since the last time he saw him: he stands mere centimeters behind him—peering curiously over his shoulder—all without him noticing his movements. He’s all flailing limbs, crashing into the table when he spins around. He clutches his racing chest, breathing heavily as he waits for the fear to recede and for his pounding heart to return to normal. “You scared me, Haru!” 

Haruka cocks his head inquisitively, “Who else would it be, if not me?” 

He wrings the towel between his fingers, the harsh thumping of blood still rushing loudly in his ears. “That’s besides the point. I didn’t even hear you!” 

Haruka shrugs and moves to the living room, dropping his backpack and duffle bag on the floor. “It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention,” he mutters to himself. 

He frowns at Haruka’s retreating back—he was _so_  paying attention—and abandons the table, hanging the towel on the back of a chair to follow him out to the living room. “How was practice?” 

Groaning, Haruka raises his arms above his head, arching his back as he stretches. The line his body makes captures Makoto’s wandering attention as green eyes follows the graceful curve. Even under the drab, thick cotton of his university sweatshirt, he could still tell how the years of steady training has strengthened Haruka. But his admiration for the fruits of his best friend’s labor is cut short when Haruka sloppily throws himself down on the couch. 

“Exhausting.” His head lolls against the backrest, “Mikoshiba wouldn’t let us go until one of us beat him in a race.” 

Haruka would never complain about being kept longer at practice. Unless… 

“A _foot_ race,” he growls with disdain.

Unless that.

Makoto glances back at the kitchen guiltily. It’s hardly fair to have Haruka slave away on the stove when he’s about to drop. At times like these, he really wishes he were more competent in the kitchen and that his repertoire consisted more than just boiling water for instant ramen. Biting his lip, he debates that perhaps it would be better if he just went home instead of having Haruka trouble himself with dinner. He opens his mouth to voice that exact thought when Haruka shoots it down before he could even make a sound. 

“Don’t even think about it,” his eyes remain gently shut as he doesn’t even look at Makoto, already knowing that he wanted to protest. “It’s Thursday. We’re having dinner.” 

So Makoto acquiesces. There really is no arguing with Haruka when he gets like this. When he gets something in his head, Haruka can be as stubborn as the twins. Maybe even more so. 

But that doesn’t mean he can’t still offer an alternative. “Maybe we can order takeout instead.” 

Haruka finally cracks open an eye, the intense blue is unrelenting in its scrutiny, “And how many times have you had takeout this week?” 

He rubs his hands over his thighs sheepishly before taking a seat next to Haruka. “Not _that_ many.” Four times really isn’t that many, right?

“Liar,” Haruka calls him out immediately and he isn’t sure if he should be offended or impressed by that. 

He settles for a petulant admittance. “Fine. But it’s not a big deal. What’s one more?” 

Haruka sighs impatiently. It’s a familiar exchange they have had in the past with his response being equally predictable. “It _is_ a big deal.” Haruka climbs _over_ him and staggers gracefully toward the kitchen. 

Only Haruka could make staggering look remotely graceful. Which, by the very definition of the word, is decidedly _not_ graceful. Sure, a Haruka _out_ of the water pales in comparison to a Haruka _in_ the water, but still. There’s never a wasted movement with him. Every motion, no matter how small—even the land based ones—has a natural elegance to it. It’s as if he’s gliding on water. He shakes his head and laughs to himself. Haruka would be pleased as punch if he heard that comparison. 

Makoto sighs and heaves himself off the couch as well. He disagrees with Haruka’s assessment but it’s a petty thing to make a fuss over (again) so he lets it go. Leaning against the door frame of the kitchen, he watches as Haruka roots around various cupboards and cabinets for the appropriate cookware. 

“What’s for dinner?” he asks instead.

Haruka reaches into the cabinet next to the stovetop. “Yosenabe,1” he replies as he pulls out a big stockpot. 

His breath catches in his throat. He refrains from squealing with joy. It’s actually painful for him to keep the indescribable joy clawing at his chest from escaping into the ether. Nabe is beyond perfect for the winter and it’s been far too long since he had homemade nabe. He didn’t realize how much he missed and craved it until _literally_ just now. Haruka is the best person he knows. 

“It sounds delicious,” he says in a calm, even tone. 

Haruka raises a questioning eyebrow at him, “You don’t have to hide your enthusiasm, Makoto. It’s just me.” 

“I…” he begins but his shoulders sag in resignation. “I’m trying to be an adult.” 

The questioning eyebrow reaches his hairline, his eyes not to subtly flicking up and down at Makoto. “Don’t strain yourself.” 

The barely noticeable, tiniest quirk of Haruka’s lips sends him back on the defensive. “Don’t be such a butt,” he retorts.

The snort of amusement is one of those extremely rare instances of Haruka audibly expressing his emotions. Despite the butthead laughing at him, he can’t stop the small smile from breaking out on his own lips. 

“How _adult_ of you,” his voice grins teasingly. 

He grumbles internally. He knew that would be used against him in some way. He just didn’t expect it to have such a quick turnaround. Although, he supposes that he did walk right into that one. 

“Fine,” he grits out tersely. He might be exaggerating his displeasure at being called out. “I’m excited for yosenabe. Happy?” 

“See? Wasn’t that much easier than whatever _that_ ,” Haruka gestures inarticulately at him, “was?”

Makoto rolls his eyes. Haruka can be such a smart-ass sometimes. Thinking he’s all clever and what not. And most of the time, yeah, okay, he is, but does he have to be so smug about it?

He looks up from his internal monologuing when Haruka calls his name. 

“Makoto?” He pulls the refrigerator door wider, “What is all this?”

Makoto pushes off from the wall and brightens, “Oh! I went to the market. Since I can’t really help you in the kitchen, I thought I could at least provide dessert!” he grins proudly at his contribution.

Haruka pulls the box out of the fridge and looks over the goods. He nods in satisfaction at what he finds. “Fruit instead of cake? I’m so proud of you. You’re learning, Makoto.”

He takes a page out of Haruka’s book as he deadpans, “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”

“I never said I was,” he shoots back. Haruka picks up each fruit for closer inspection and hums with approval, “You did good, Makoto.” Clutching a mikan in one hand and a kaki2 in the other, Haruka whirls around. Pursing his lips, he eyes him suspiciously, “You did _really_ good. When did _you_ become the fruit whisperer?” 

Makoto grins sheepishly, fingering the counter-top with random swirls while avoiding the questioning blue eyes as he admits quietly, “Well, I… See, the thing is… This nice granny might have helped me pick them out.” 

Makoto’s head snaps up at the undignified squawk that didn’t come from him. Upon looking up, he finds Haruka slapping a hand over his mouth, in a vain attempt to swallow back the choked laughter from bubbling out of his throat. His jaw drops in amazement at the developing scene.

“Are… Are you serious?” Makoto dumbly catches the mikan thrown at him, Haruka’s bright eyes gleaming with laughter as he continues, “You…” he pauses to catch his breath, “you had to ask a little, old lady to help you pick out a handful of fruit?” 

“I didn’t ask!” he shoots back indignantly, stomping his foot childishly. Not very adult of him indeed. His volume lowers gradually as he explains, “ _She_ … asked if I needed help and I… accepted. Shut up!” he pouts when Haruka gives up all pretense of suppressing his mirth and bowls over, leaning on him and clutching his arm as his body shakes against his in a series of unfamiliar guffaws. 

It’s an unusual sight, even for him. Haruka has his moments of quiet chuckling (we’re talking about _literally_ a handful of circumstances), sure, but mostly, his expressions of amusement or laughter are usually restricted to the gleam of his eyes. In all his years with Haruka, this kind of unbridled joy is something entirely new. Two decades of friendship and this type of body shuddering, joyous reaction is as rare as a mermaid sighting. Which, given that _mermaids don’t exist_ , gives you an idea at exactly how odd this entire situation is. The only other time he’d seen something remotely similar was when Rin and the rest of the Iwatobi swim club tickled him into submission. 

But _this_ was a voluntary reaction. _This_ was a legitimate, full bellied laugh that seized his lungs and made his eyes water. And he doesn’t really know what to do in the face a jubilant Haruka. He’d laugh along with him—and he desperately wants to, _so fucking much_ —considering he doesn’t know when such a reaction would ever present itself again but he fails to see what’s so funny. He settles for an annoyed—albeit not very convincing—pout instead.

“Now I have this image in my head of you pacing up and down the produce section, skulking for little, old grandmas,” Haruka wheezes his clarification.

Well, that’s not very funny at all. “Stop making it sound like I’m lurking around in the produce aisle for unsuspecting grandmas!” A fresh burst of sputtering laughter bubbles from Haruka’s lips, even louder than before. Haruka’s slender fingers curl into the sleeve of his cream sweater. He recognizes the whine in his voice but it fails to stop him from, well, _whining_. “That’s not what happened!” 

Haruka swallows down his remaining laughter as he clutches his heaving stomach, “I know, I know. You would never do something so unsavory. It’s just… a random thought that popped into my head.” He slowly pulls away from him and clears his throat several times. Forcing his lips into a tight, thin line, his signature deadpan falls back into place as all of the glee disappears from his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking and sounding genuinely apologetic. 

And that’s the difference: with anyone else, that apology would seem fake, as if he were being mocked. But with Haruka, you would be remiss to make that mistake. That isn’t to say that he doesn’t joke around—he can be quite funny—but not when it comes to certain things. Because generally, Haruka never says anything he doesn’t actually mean—no matter how outrageous—not when he’s so careful and frugal with his words. Not when he _understands_ the power of words. 

Makoto absentmindedly scratches his chest. _This_ Haruka is more familiar. _This_ Haruka he can handle. But he can’t help but feel a bit sad—and empty, as if something important had been taken away—that his exuberance was over so quickly. Already, he finds himself missing the sound of it. Wishing that he could bottle up the way Haruka’s eyes crinkle and the way his laughter rolls up from his chest. Maybe he should’ve just let Haruka continue teasing him if it meant seeing more of that side of him. 

Haruka plucks the fruit out of his hand, smirking at him—more with his eyes than anything else—and places it back in the box. “I’ll teach you.”

All his thoughts of Haruka’s laughter causes him lose track of their conversation. Makoto cocks his head in confusion, “Huh?” 

He returns the fruits back into the refrigerator and repeats, “I’ll teach you. The next time we go to the market, I’ll teach you how to pick fruit. That way, you don’t have to rely on random grandmas to take pity on you.” 

He ignores the grandma dig and if he looks a little overeager, then so be it. Ever since his failed attempt—even under Haruka’s ever watchful supervision—at making miso mackerel3 for the twins all those years ago, Haruka hasn’t exactly been keen on helping him in the culinary arts. Sure, there have been fits and starts but it was never anything substantial. Makoto grins, the corners of his mouth stretching to its limits. He plants his hands on the counter-top, rising all the up to his tippy toes that he nearly tips over.

His green eyes sparkling with excitement. “Really?” he doesn’t try to tamper the delighted quiver in his voice. 

Haruka sucks in a breath and quickly turns his head away. Hiding his face behind his long, inky fringe, he fills up the stockpot with water. He mumbles under his breath, “We’re grown ups now. Supposedly. We need to know how to fend for ourselves,” Haruka’s blue eyes slide over to him, “and since you’re helpless—” 

“Hey!” offended, he injects in dismay.

“I’ll teach you,” Haruka turns and faces him, his eyes completely serious signaling his determination to follow through. 

Makoto tears his eyes away from Haruka’s fierce gaze and stares intently at the faux marbling of the granite counter-top. He feels the heat in his face bloom across his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck, thanking him shyly. It’s situations like this where he seriously wonders how he’d ever survive Tokyo without Haruka. Logically, he knows that he would but having Haruka here too makes it a hell of a lot easier. Not to mention healthier. And less lonely.

Haruka nods firmly and goes about rummaging through his pantry before he finds what he’s looking for. He throws some kombu4 into the pot of water and leaves it on the counter. Cleaning off his hands, he turns to Makoto again. “Are you staying tonight?” Haruka tilts his head curiously.

He shifts uneasily from foot to foot. It seems like he’s been staying over a lot. Even more so than he ever did back in Iwatobi. Okay, he knows that’s not true because they’ve had _nineteen years_ worth of sleepovers in Iwatobi. But it still feels like he’s been over _a lot_. Not only that, but Sousuke still has possession of the spare futon so they’ve been sharing the bed. And that’s an occurrence that has definitely happened more often than it did back home. At least, in terms of their post grade school years.

“I don’t know if I should,” he rubs his arm uneasily.

Haruka’s lips purse in his otherwise impassive expression, “Why not?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets and scrunching his shoulders, he rocks back and forth on his heels. “Because I feel like every time we have these dinners here, I end up staying.”

The tiny furrow in Haruka’s brow gives away his confusion, “So?”

He puffs up his cheeks and whines. “So… you never stay over when we have dinner at _my_ place.”

Haruka frowns at him with distaste and explains—even though he really doesn’t have to, “Because you don’t have space for a futon and your bed is too small. _And_ sleeping on the couch is **not** an option.”

He winces at the accuracy of his assessment. “I know. Which makes it even worse! Because you cook _and_  let me stay over. And I just feel like I’m taking advan—”

Haruka holds up a hand, gesturing to stop from going any further. “Stop it. You’re not.”

“And besides,” he props his elbows on the counter-top, bearing almost all his weight on his forearms, “I know you like your privacy.”

Haruka takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. With an air of impatience, he blows his hair out of his face. “Makoto, it’s fine. Really. I wouldn’t invite you to stay if I don’t want you here. You know that.”

Makoto nods, of course he knows that. “I do… Haru-chan would never do something he doesn’t mean but I still—”

Having finished with the initial food preparations, Haruka pulls his well worn apron over his head and places it on the counter. “Go take a shower, Makoto,” he interrupts softly. “Dinner won’t be ready for a while, so, go."

It’s hard to argue with when Haruka is being so gracious and generous. He nods firmly, “Thanks, Haru.”

Noticeably flustered, Haruka huffs a quiet grunt. “Thank me for something like that again, and I’ll _really_ kick you out, got it?”

Leave it to Haruka to know exactly what to say to make him feel at ease.

Chuckling, he salutes cheerfully, “Understood, Haru-chan!”

Unamused with his over the top and childish behavior, Haruka clicks his tongue, “Drop the -chan.”

He ducks his head and chuckles fondly, “Heh, sorry, Haru.”

“Just…” Haruka points at the bathroom down the hall, “Go.” 

Resigned to Haruka’s orders, Makoto grins brightly and spins on his heels. He takes three steps toward the hall but stops and turns back around. “What about clo—” 

“I just did laundry,” he interjects before Makoto could even finish his question. “They’re in the usual drawer.” 

The usual drawer being _his_ drawer. Even though they’re no longer in Iwatobi, he stays over often enough to warrant his own drawer. He loses a lot of his favorite shirts this way. Although, now that he thinks about it, while Haruka has a designated drawer at his apartment too, it remains ostensibly empty. Well, he might have a pair of Haruka’s socks, but, yeah, empty. 

“You’re the best, Haru!” he sings as he skips out of the kitchen and into Haruka’s bedroom. 

He feels like himself again after his shower and when wanders back out, he finds Haruka donning the blue familiar apron again. As he approaches, he sees the counter cluttered with bowls and plates of various sizes. Harusame5 is soaking in water in one bowl and several plates of washed and prepped shiitake and enoki mushrooms, napa cabbage, carrots, and spinach are neatly lined up. Haruka is currently hunched over the cutting board, working on filleting, what else, mackerel. 

He makes sure to make a sufficient amount of noise, shuffling his feet, as he approaches, not wanting to startle Haruka. 

Haruka glances up to acknowledge him before he returns his attentions on the mackerel. “Hey, did you,” he gestures vaguely at the neatly stacked pile of text and notebooks, “clean?”

Makoto follows his line of sight. Clearing his throat, he nods, “I got bored so I tidied up a bit. But I didn’t touch the kitchen. Or your bedroom,” he quickly clarifies. 

Haruka hums his appreciation. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he shrugs casually, “But I don’t like _not_ doing something, you know?” 

Because of his tactile nature, he has never been able to stay still for very long, always looking for something to do, always needing his hands on something. His mother has accumulated boxes full of half completed, nonsensical, terrible construction projects because of his tendencies. It’s why he, as Nagisa would say, “talk with your hands.” Something, something idle hands, he supposes. 

Haruka flicks his tongue over his lips in amusement. “I do know.” 

Haruka has been on the receiving end of his active hands on more than a few occasions6. A lot of his scribbled projects inevitably wind up in Haruka’s possession. As children, it was common practice for them to _make_  each other gifts.

Haruka tears his focus away from the mackerel. “You didn’t have any homework you could’ve done instead?” 

His nose crinkles in a light-bulb moment. “Oh. Right. I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that. Good thing I only have a reading assignment.”

The inky, black hair shimmers in the light as Haruka shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“ _You’re_ ridiculous.” It’s sad, but it’s the only retort he could come up with in that moment. 

Haruka scoffs, _such an adult_ , his eyes tease mockingly. Sticking his tongue out at him probably didn’t help matters. 

Haruka rolls his shoulders and eyes him seriously. “Do you want to help?” 

Worried that he heard Haruka wrong, he wriggles a finger in his ears to clear it. “What?” 

With a heavy sigh, he cocks his head wearily. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.” 

“No!” he blurts out, startling both himself and Haruka. “I… I mean, I do. I just… wasn’t sure I heard correctly.” 

“Well, did you hear me asking you if you wanted to help?” Makoto nods cautiously. “Then you heard right.” 

Amazed that Haruka is actually allowing him in the kitchen, he picks his jaw of the ground, “You mean I can? Really?” 

The bridge of Haruka’s nose twitches with impatience. Putting down the knife, he arches an eyebrow. “Do you want to help or not?” 

“Yes!” He scrambles quickly into the kitchen, standing side by side with Haruka. “What do you want me to do?” 

Haruka jerks his head at the refrigerator as he goes back to filleting the mackerel. “There’s tofu in the fridge. Drain and quarter it. When you’re done with that, drain the harusume.” 

“Aye, aye, chef!” Haruka’s put upon sigh rolls right off him as he grins cheerfully. 

Haruka shakes his head and gives up whatever counter response he had. Instead, he shoots him a skeptical look and asks, “Do you think you can handle that?” 

He frowns at Haruka’s lack of confidence. “I’m not that bad!” 

“Says the guy that couldn’t tell sugar from salt,” Haruka shoots back _immediately_ , as if he had been saving and waiting for the perfect chance to use that quip. 

His whole body lurches in dismay. “Haruuuu! That was _one_ time!” 

“That’s one time too many.” 

He drags his feet to the fridge and grumbles under his breath, “Like _you’ve_ never made a mistake.”

Haruka’s head snaps toward him, “What was that?” 

It was obvious that Haruka heard him just fine judging from the glare he aims at him but he defiantly repeats it anyway. “I said, ‘like you’ve never made a mistake.’”

Haruka’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You are just asking for it, aren’t you?”

Pulling the package of tofu out, he wanders back next to Haruka and tears it open. He turns his nose up and sniffs, “Asking for what?”

Haruka finishes with mackerel and sets it off to the side. Folding his arms across his chest, his icy, blue eyes piercing into him. “Don’t think I won’t make you sleep on the couch.”

He nearly drops the plastic carton at that and pouts, “That punishment does not fit the crime. It’s cruel and unusual.”

Haruka simply raises a challenging eyebrow, “Are you sorry?”

But he stands his ground. Well, whatever little he has left anyway. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Makoto.” It  _sounds_ like his usual flat, even tone but he can _feel_ the menacing growl just underneath.  

He’s perfectly aware that this is a stupid hill to die on, but he is not going to back down, dammit! Because he knows he’s right. He knows _Haruka_ knows he’s right. Besides, he’s far too invested in this to turn back now. “So you’re allowed to make fun of me but I’m not allowed to tease you back? That hardly seems fair, Haru-chan.”

The thin line of Haruka’s lips are back, the corner of his eye twitching as he struggles to formulate a response. He accepts it as victory. Pyrrhic though it is. He quickly pivots to tomorrow’s plans because if he lets Haruka dwell on this too long, the chances of retaliation increases. 

“Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow? We can walk to the train station together.”

Haruka tenses at the question and raises his fist to his mouth. And then like a _freaking grade schooler_ trying to get out of going to school, he forces out the loudest, phoniest, hacking cough he’d ever heard. “I think I caught something from the guys. The flu has been going around campus and I’m just… Oh. That must be why I’m so tired.”

He purses his lips, his eyes turned down, unimpressed by the truly terrible showing. “You are such a faker. That wasn’t even remotely convincing.”

Haruka gives up on the façade—finding that it’s not worth the effort to continue—and scowls. “Do I really have to?”

He twists his body. If Haruka thinks he can wriggle his way out of it, he is sorely mistaken. “You promised! So, yes! You promised me an hour. You can’t take it back!”

Haruka’s shoulders sag considerably and bites his down turned lips in resignation. “Fine,” he grits out tersely. He forces his focus onto cleaning and slicing the scallions. “Practice might run late. I’ll just meet you guys at the station.”

“Okay,” he shrugs in understanding.

“Six-thirty, right?” Haruka asks glumly. 

He nods and cuts the tofu into four pieces. “Yep. Be at the station by 6:30, at the restaurant by 7, and then karaoke by 8:30.”

Haruka visibly deflates at the mention of karaoke. “Fine,” he mutters lowly before turning his bright, hopeful eyes at him, “Home by 9:30.”

“We’ll _leave_ by 9:30,” he corrects.

“But—!”

“ _One. Hour_ , Haru,” he reiterates. 

Haruka curses the karaoke portion of the night under his breath as he quickly works his knife along the length of the scallion, his long, slim fingers dancing along the surface of the bamboo cutting board at a blistering pace. He stares hypnotically at his work while also worrying that he’s working _too_ fast, running the risk of cutting himself in the process but he finishes without any bloodshed. 

He blinks out of his staring and asks curiously, “Are you coming with Captain Mikoshiba?”

“Stop calling him that. And no. He can find his own way there,” he muttered lowly as he dumps a plate of ingredients into the pot. 

He tries not to laugh. He really does. But the way Haruka said it makes it nigh impossible not to. He shakes his head in amusement and wipes his hands with a towel when finishes with the assigned tasks. He turns to Haruka expectantly for further instructions. “What’s next?”

“Nothing,” Haruka folds his arms over his chest, “That’s enough from you.”

“Aw, but Haru!”

Haruka tilts his head just slightly, his face blank but his eyes gleam coldly. 

Ah, so this is the payback for his earlier victory. Or payback for insisting that he keep his promise tomorrow. 

“Go set the table,” Haruka instructs him instead, kicking him out of the kitchen. 

He trails out of the kitchen, pouting as he neatly sets the bowl, soup spoons, and chopsticks on the dining table. Haruka then emerges from the kitchen with one of those portable burners and signals for him to follow. The pot is boiling on the stove, the napa cabbage, shiitake mushrooms, and carrots already thrown in.

“Here,” Haruka hands him two pot holders, “Take this to the burner.”

He does so obediently, turning on the burner, and upon he turning back around, he sees Haruka juggling three different plates in his arms. He quickly assists him in setting them down. Haruka reaches over the alcove to the kitchen and grabs a pair of strainers and a ladle. He’s about to dump the plate of seafood into the pot when Haruka stops him. 

“Wait,” he raises a hand urgently, “something is missing.” His eyes quickly scan back and forth between the plates before shuffling away quickly. He returns with a freshly rinsed bundle of watercress and adds it on to the pile of vegetables.

Haruka nods in satisfaction and promptly dumps the seafood in, followed by the harusame, and then the tofu. It isn’t exactly the neatest yosenabe he’s ever had, but then again, hot pot at home rarely is. Besides, he’s just glad there’s yosenabe to be had. Haruka passes him the extra strainer and with a quick “itadakimasu,” they dig into the pot. He ends up with a strainer full of tofu and dumps it in Haruka’s bowl. 

Haruka stares at the steaming slab of bean curd, cocking his head in response. “This isn’t mackerel.”

He swirls the strainer in the pot, looking for some other ready-to-eat goods and lifts an eyebrow at Haruka. “You can’t just eat mackerel, remember? Now eat your tofu. It’s good protein.”

Haruka tsks in disappointment but eats it anyway. He grabs a handful of watercress, enoki mushrooms, and spinach and tosses them into the pot. They wilt quickly so he ladles them, along with some more harusame, into Haruka’s bowl. 

Haruka shoos his hands and arms away. “Makoto, eat. I can do this myself.” He waves his strainer in the air and, as if proving his point, he scoops up a large helping of vegetables from the broth. 

“Oh, right,” he chuckles sheepishly, “Of course you can.” 

He scoops up half a bowl worth of goodies: clams, tofu, mushrooms, and carrots. The aroma alone has him salivating and at the first taste, he groans softly at the warmth and flavor of the soup. He turns positively giddy with anticipation because if it’s this flavorful now, the broth will be downright _heavenly_ after it’s been simmering with the various ingredients all night. He swallows down the contents in three big gulps, only pausing occasionally to chew when necessary. He’s about to ladle some more for himself when Haruka has a spoonful ready for him. 

“Mackerel,” he informs him unnecessarily, “it’s good for you.”

He holds his bowl up for Haruka to refill. “Thanks, Haru,” he grins happily.

Haruka hums and scoops some mackerel for himself. He seems to give it a quick thought before acquiescing and fishes out some more watercress and harusame and dumps it into his own bowl. 

It goes on like that until they finish every plate on the table. With a warm belly full of soup, he learns that he was totally right: soup was indeed heavenly thanks to the mixture of ingredients. His other assessment from earlier was also right: Haruka really is the best person he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Basically, hot pot.  
> 2(Unshu) mikan=Satsuma mandarin, kaki=persimmon.  
> 3See Original Drama from the MakoHaru Character Song Duet CD.  
> 4Kombu=seaweed  
> 5Harusame=cellophane noodles  
> 6Phrasing.
> 
> Dorks, dorks, dorks. What a bunch of dorks. They're the only thing that gives me life nowadays.


	6. Ah-ha! So You Admit It!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His palms itch to grasp it, but before he can grab a hold of it, _something_ slips right through his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. They're here.

Tomorrow creeps up a little too quickly for his liking and before he knows it, he’s reluctantly standing on the bustling platform with Makoto and Rei. He hops from foot to foot, trying desperately to circulate some blood to his lower extremities. His teeth are chattering so loud that he’s certain everyone on the platform can hear it. And he’s pretty sure that the blood in his fingers are beginning the slow, painful process of freezing.

Suddenly, he understands the phrase _cold, dead fingers_.

The dark and bitter cold matches his current mood as Makoto predictably fusses over him; cradling his hands in his large, wool-covered palms and rubbing them vigorously between his gloved hands in hopes of warming them up.

“I knew I should have picked you up! Your hands are so cold, Haru-chan!” Makoto takes his hands and shoves them up the sleeves of his wonderfully warm, army green parka but shrieks with horror the moment his cold fingers brushes his bare arms and quickly yanks them back out. “There _has_ to be a shop where we can get you some gloves.” His eyes briefly flicker to his face, “And a scarf.”

As if he needs any more gloves and scarves. This has happened a few times over the course of the past two years. He would occasionally—through no fault of his own1—leave his scarf and gloves at home when meeting Makoto and upon seeing his skimpy state of dress, he would whisk him off and get him a new set. At this point, he has built up quite the collection of colorful winter accessories. Most of which have never been worn again since the day he bought them.

A heavy, white puff escapes his cracked, chapped lips, “Makoto, will you just stop for two seconds? I’m fine.”

He’s not. His teeth are chattering so hard that his jaw is beginning to ache. The cold seeps into his exposed ears, freezing them until they turn stiff and red. The tip of his nose fares no better as he tries, unsuccessfully, to hide his face in his collar. He grunts softly in annoyance at having chosen the wrong jacket to wear for this particular outing.

“Haruka-senpai,” Rei cautiously begins, pushing his glasses up his nose, “I am afraid I’m inclined to agree with Makoto-senpai. Perhaps it would be best if you two go get some…” his eyes glosses over him critically, “ _appropriate_ winter apparel.” Rei rocks back on his heels, with his chin tipped up and looking immensely pleased with himself. “I am perfectly capable of waiting for Nagisa-kun and Gou-san myself.”

His shoulders sag and he frowns at the traitorous remark because that means Makoto will take that as affirmation of his rightness and drag him off to wherever.

“Yes! Thank you, Rei!” Makoto looks like he’s about to kiss Rei because, now, it’s two against one. “Finally, a voice of reason!”

Makoto takes a glove off and shoves his hand into it while the newly ungloved hand envelops his bare one, immediately warming his fingers and melting the frostiness that had been biting at him. Makoto tugs him along and Haruka has no choice but to be swept up in one of Makoto’s fancies yet again. To be truthful, he doesn’t really mind these detours but he does have a reputation to maintain. So he makes a half-hearted show of protest.

Despite the unforgiving winter chill descending down on them relentlessly, Makoto expertly weaves the two of them through the crowd. “You _really_ have to start wearing your scarf and gloves before leaving the apartment, Haru,” Makoto tugs him closer to his side—until they’re practically glued together—not wanting to get separated in the crowd. “They say it’s the coldest winter on record. You don’t want to get frostbite, do you?”

He huffs quietly to himself. By his estimation, Makoto is being over-dramatic. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not that bad.”

Makoto pouts at him and squeezes his fingers, causing Haruka to wince in response. “Your fingers feel like ice cubes, Haru. And when you get a cold, I’m going to say, ‘I told you so.’”

He doesn’t bother explaining that a cold is actually a viral infection and not something you catch _because_ of cold weather 2 because it’s not like Makoto _didn’t_ learn the same exact thing in school. Besides, no matter how many times he reminds him of that, it won’t stop him from fretting about it. He merely nods, not really paying attention to Makoto’s lecture—he’s already heard them before, after all—and sticks even closer to his warmth when the crowd swells the closer they get to their destination.

After some disagreements over this store or that, they finally find a store that doesn’t offend him too much. He doesn’t put up much of a fight with Makoto as he wraps him up in a thick, cable knit, royal blue scarf. He even lets Makoto shove his hands in a new pair of gloves—even though he much prefers the method from earlier but, whatever, he’ll deal. However, he draws the line at the wool beanie. It makes his head itchy and after several moments of them staring each other down, Makoto relents. Instead, he re-wraps him with the scarf so his ears and wind chapped cheeks will be shielded from the cold. Thankfully, he didn’t wrap him up too tightly, leaving him enough room to breathe.

Makoto taps his reddened nose, making him flinch and gape at him. “There. All better.”

He gasps and rubs his nose in distress, unappreciative of being treated like a child. He’s turning 22 this year, damn it! Makoto shouldn’t be flicking his nose. _Especially_ in the cold. It hurts.

Makoto chuckles at his displeased glare and steers him to the checkout counter instead. “You look like an angry cat that’s been forced to take a bath, Haru.”

“See how you like it when I flick _your_ nose,” he scowls irritably.

“Please don’t,” Makoto pleads with a crooked grin, “It’s too cold for that.”

“Oh, so you _are_ aware.” He quickly pays for his new winter gear, tossing the receipt in the tiny garbage bin as they make their way toward the door. “I’m not a child, Makoto,” he grumbles, suddenly feeling the need to voice his earlier thoughts.

“I know you’re not,” Makoto agrees readily, “But you need to prove it by dressing properly. This no gloves, no scarf phase has been going on for far too long, don’t you think?” he cocks his head expectantly.

He grunts. It’s not _untrue_ but it’s only because Makoto usually provides him with everything he needs. So really, this is _Makoto’s_ fault. So he should really stop being so condescending.

They head back out into the icy winter air, the ends of his scarf twisting wildly when a harsh gust of wind batters into them. Why are they out here again? They could be comfortably hanging out at home where it’s toasty and warm. But no, instead they’re out here, running the risk of getting frostbite all because of Rin’s misplaced sentimentalities. Sometimes, he wonders why he bothers being friends with the red-head.

In yet another reason for him to be cross with Rin: he is the cause of Makoto’s current discomforts. Halfway down the block, Makoto shivers audibly despite wearing enough layers to start his own store. He can easily ignore his own discomforts but dragging Makoto into this? Well, that’s just simply unacceptable. He’ll make sure to glare at him extra long.

There’s very little he can do to eliminate Makoto’s discomforts but he can at the very least ease some of it. Spying a small coffee shop in an alleyway across the street, he tugs Makoto toward the quaint storefront. It’s rather empty except for the handful of people huddled over their mugs, taking temporary refuge from the cold. He approaches the counter, and after a quick scan of the limited menu, he looks at the barista.

She smiles a little too brightly and her curious eyes flitters to his side. The side where his hand is still curled around Makoto’s wrist. Haruka huffs, letting go of his grip. He slips out of his gloves and digs into his pocket for his wallet.

 _Nosy_ , he thinks irritably.

“A plain black tea and a hot chocolate,” he mutters scratchily.

Makoto whips his head toward him, curiosity coloring his expression. As if he hadn’t expected him to get him a warm drink too.

_Idiot._

“Eh? Haru…?”

His eyes slide over to his friend, finding him gawking at him with amazement. He narrows his eyes and challenges, “Are you going to fight me on this?”

Makoto’s eyes widen in surprise. He fidgets in his spot, his shoulders slumping as he scratches his cheek sheepishly, “Uh, no, I guess. But you really don’t have to, Haru-chan.”

Haruka faces forward again, handing the barista a handful of bills. “You’re cold.” He pauses and as an afterthought adds, “So am I.”

Faster than a flash of lightning, Makoto straightens up, his eyes shimmering in delight as he exclaims, “Ah-ha!” he shoves a triumphant finger at his nose, “So you admit it! You **_are_** cold!”

Haruka closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek, immediately regretting the dumb decision of admitting his discomfort with the weather. “Shut up.” He retrieves his order from the pick up counter and shoves the paper cup into his hands, ignoring Makoto’s dumb, smug grin at being right. “Just drink your damn hot chocolate like a normal person.”

Makoto’s joyful laughter sends a warm jolt down his spine, the warmth coils at the tips of his fingers when he sends him a shy, but no less brilliant, smile. He bumps his shoulder against his playfully. He blows at his hot chocolate gently before taking a small, cautious sip. He smiles when he pulls away, “Thank you, Haru-chan.”

“Drop the -chan,” he mutters feebly. He stares at his own beverage and takes a sip. It’s still a bit too hot. “How’s your hot chocolate?”

Makoto tilts his head and smiles warmly at him, “It’s really good!”

Well aware of Makoto’s love for chocolate, he can’t help but feel that it’s a dubious claim. He grunts, “Only because it’s chocolate.”

Makoto pops the lid on the cup and frowns, “Not true! I think you’d actually like it.”

Well, that’s an interesting assertion. He’s never been a big fan of sweet treats, something Makoto knows all too well. “Oh?”

Makoto looks very sure of himself though, nodding with a lopsided grin, “Yep.”

Now that _really_ piques his interest. “And why’s that?”

He takes another sip and smacks his lips a little too loudly. “It’s not too sweet.” Makoto holds the cup out, “Wanna try some?”

Haruka stares unblinkingly when Makoto licks the stray drop of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. Glancing quickly at the plain white cup, he declines with a shake of his head, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Makoto grins toothily. He sing-songs merrily, “You look like you want to try some.”

He turns his nose up and sniffs haughtily. “I do not.”

Makoto chuckles and nudges him cheerfully, “Come on, Haru. Just a small sip.”

He sighs resignedly. Knowing Makoto won’t stop pestering him until he does so, he rises to the balls of his feet. Curling his cool fingers around Makoto’s warm wrist, he angles the cup just enough for a quick taste. Admittedly, Makoto was right, it wasn’t too sweet and he doesn’t _dislike_ it. But that’s all he’s willing to admit.

He pulls away and looks up to find Makoto frozen in place. A delicate splash of pink painted across his cheeks and his bright green eyes widen to the size of saucers. He licks the excess chocolate lingering on his lips and notices Makoto’s eyes darting down to follow the movement.

Haruka turns his head away, feeling his stomach lurch wildly. “You’re right. It’s not too sweet.”

Makoto snaps out of whatever trance he was stuck in and nods dumbly, “Uh, yeah.” He stares intently at the cup before resolving to take another quick sip of it. “Told you so,” he mutters faintly against the rim.

Haruka spins on his heel, tamping down the temptation of covering his own heated face, and marches back toward the station where everyone is waiting. “Lets just… go, Makoto.”

“Wait, Haru!”

Instinctively, he pauses and faces him. Setting the cup down on an unoccupied table, Makoto pulls his gloves off with his teeth. With an easy, affectionate smile, Makoto reaches for him. His heart thrashes violently in his chest as his knuckles brushes against his windburned cheeks. His breath gets lodged in his throat but he finally exhales shakily in relief when Makoto merely pulls his scarf up.

“There we go. Now we can go.” Makoto pulls his gloves back on, picks up his hot chocolate again, and leads him back into the cold.

Haruka follows him quietly amid a strange feeling of disappointment gnawing at him. The relief he felt earlier doesn’t align with the immense disappointment overwhelming him now. He burrows his face deeper into his new scarf, hiding his cheeks, puffed up in dissatisfaction. In his periphery, he sees Makoto sipping his hot chocolate happily. His rosy cheeks flushing darker and pink nose crinkling at the warm scent.

Makoto says something about how he’s looking forward to karaoke but he tunes him out. Not completely—just enough for him to crawl into his head and think. Lately, Makoto has crept into his inner thoughts more than ever before. And he can’t even blame it on Tokyo. In his first year, he was, for the most part, consumed with his swimming and adjusting to university life and getting used to Tokyo to think about anything else. That isn’t to say he _didn’t_ think about Makoto because he did. He’s his best friend and he does worry about him. But it certainly wasn’t as frequent as is now the case.

The nature of those Makoto-centered thoughts are different too. The thing is, it wasn’t an drastic, noticeable change; it was more of a slow, steady, ant-sized change. Like how when he’s in class, he wishes that it was Makoto giving the lecture instead of his slightly overweight, middle-aged professor because his voice is just really soothing and nice to listen to. Or how he wishes that it was Makoto’s laughter that echoes in the locker room instead of Mikoshiba’s. Or the fact that he actually enjoys receiving goofy texts and voicemails from Makoto throughout the day. Taken individually, they’re not exactly what one would consider a monumental shift in behavior. But when you take a step back and add them all together, it certainly _feels_ it.

The realization of these minute changes takes him by surprise. Just when did these seemingly inconsequential thoughts weave into his consciousness? Just when did this steady invasion begin? He’s on the cusp of _something_. Something important. Something possibly life altering. But it’s still just out of his reach, taunting and eluding him. He’s so close he can nearly taste it. His palms itch to grasp it, but before he can grab a hold of it, _something_ slips right through his fingers 3.

Makoto nudges him, his head cocked questioningly. He must have lost track of time, so consumed in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize they’re back at the station. Pushing his frustrations aside, he looks for their friends. Nagisa, Rei, and Kou are all standing there waiting for them, chattering happily, rosy cheeked and beaming. He shrinks back and braces for impact when he sees Nagisa glance at and then lock eyes with him. He notices the child-like glee in his magenta eyes and smile, readying to launch into him.

Nagisa squeals as he runs straight at him. He attaches himself to his torso like how an octopus attaches itself to its prey. “Haru-chaaaaan! It’s been too long!”

He staggers back unsteadily at Nagisa’s attack but luckily, Makoto is right behind him and helps him regain his balance. How Nagisa manages to wrap his legs around him despite wearing approximately ten layers of clothing will always be a mystery to him.

He spits out a mouthful of strawberry blonde curls and gently pats him on his head. “Good to see you too, Nagisa.”

He really does mean it. He can count the amount of times he’s seen Nagisa since moving to Tokyo on one hand. It’s nice to see his childhood friend again and watch the outrageous antics of the blonde with amusement and fondness. He still wishes Nagisa wouldn’t baby koala him though.

Nagisa releases him and holds him at arms length to inspect him before shoving his face back into his space. Nagisa blinks at him inquisitively, “You grew, Haru-chan!”

Haruka arches an amused eyebrow. “So did you,” he points out matter of factly.

“Well, yeah,” Nagisa rolls his eyes melodramatically, “ _obviously_. But… You’re even taller than Rei-chan now!”

He glances over to a huddled up Rei chatting amicably with Makoto and Kou and shrugs indifferently. “Just a little. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Nagisa loses interest and quickly slams into him again, “I’ve missed you so much!” And just as quickly, releases him to careen into Makoto next. Distantly, he hears Makoto yelp at the unexpected weight hanging off him. “Mako-chan! You grew too!”

He throws his head back to dislodge the fringe poking into his eyes. But instead of being allowed to catch his breath, as he was expecting, he’s accosted by an overeager red-head.

“I’m so happy to see you, Haruka-senpai. I’m so glad you’re looking well!” Kou squeezes his middle enthusiastically and gasps in appreciation, “Oh my, Haruka-senpai, your training has really paid off!” she practically molests his jacketed arms.

It never ceases to amaze him that she could comment on his musculature so matter of factly. And how can she even tell through all the thick layers? And when did she become so bold? He double checks to make sure Rin isn’t around to blow a gasket at the scene even though this isn’t his doing.

He stands frozen in shock, taken by surprise at Kou’s unexpected show of affection. He tries futilely to shake her off but she is deceptively strong, her arms latched solidly around him. He looks to Rei for help but he tilts his head in bewilderment—he doesn’t seem to understand what he’s asking for—so he twists his head toward Makoto, his eyes wide and pleading, _save me_. Makoto chuckles and wades over to him. He damn near kisses his savior when Makoto gently pries Kou off, saying they should go now, or they’ll be late.

They meet Rin and Sousuke at this unassuming izakaya restaurant and the over the top greeting process starts up again. Nagisa rubs his blonde mop of curls against Rin’s chest— _Rin-chaaaan, I’ve missed you so much_!—while Kou tries, but fails, to pull him off her brother— _Let go of my brother, Nagisa-kun! I won’t have you inadvertently injuring him_!

Sousuke nods his head at everyone in silent greeting but slaps Makoto on the back with a wide grin when he approaches the group. They are entirely too friendly with one another.

A streak of orange invades his peripheral vision and Mikoshiba barks, “You’re late! Practice ended an hour ago. I’ve been here for 30 minutes already!” he haughtily bellows.

Haruka heaves an agonized sigh, “Bully for you.”

“Ah, sorry, that’s my fault,” Makoto jumps in with an entirely inaccurate version for their late arrival. He really wishes that Makoto would stop apologizing for things that are not his fault or for things that he has no control over. He even apologizes to strangers when _they’re_ the ones bumping into him! There is such a thing as being _too_ polite and Makoto is definitely too polite for his own good. He’ll have to have a stern talk with him about this.

Somewhere along the line, Mikoshiba loses interest in reprimanding him, instead finding that flirting with Kou to be a more pleasant endeavor. Even with all of Rin’s squawking. A rather tall-ish, wiry, silver haired man shuffles nervously in the background just behind Mikoshiba and Yamazaki. He looks familiar but can’t seem to place him. That is, until Rei is greeting him enthusiastically.

“Oh! Nitori-kun!” Rei gives him a quick, one-armed hug. “I didn’t know you were coming too!”

Ah. Right. He was on the Samezuka swim team. One of Rin and Yamazaki’s underclassmen. He’s taller than he remembers.

“Ah, yes, Rei-kun,” he nods and rubs the back of his head shyly. “Rin-san invited me and Nagisa-kun was very adamant that I attend. I couldn’t very well decline such a generous invitation.”

“Ai-chaaaan!!”

Speak of the devil. Nagisa careens right into Nitori, his forehead nearly slamming into his nose. So he isn’t misremembering. The Nitori kid really did get taller. He’s pretty sure he and Nagisa used to be the same height. Ish. Now, he’s as tall as Rei. Almost.

Some time during his musings, Nagisa had relinquished his hold on Rin and the newly freed red-head crashes into him. Rin wedges himself between Haruka and Rei, each arm hanging over their shoulders, “Oh, man, it’s so fucking good to be back on Japan! Too bad it’s so fucking cold though. How can you guys stand it? I’m freezing a nut off here! Do you know it’s summer right now in Australia? Wild, right?”

Rin doesn’t really allow either of them respond because he’s already prattling about something else. He sees Rei sigh—one part annoyance, one part fondness. It’s good to know that he isn’t the only one that tunes Rin out.

Rin glares at Haruka as his eyes scan him critically, “Are you fucking taller than me?”

“I was taller than you the last time you saw me,” he reminds him casually.

“Yeah, but… I grew since then!” Rin grouses sharply.

His eyes slide toward the quick-tempered red-head and considers him carefully before dropping the sure-to-anger retort. “Obviously, not enough.”

Yeah, that’s right, he has no chill.

Rin splutters indignantly, his face streaked in angry red. Then again, he can’t tell if the redness is from the cold or due to the lack of oxygen from rage. But his eyes are blazing in undeniable fury. And _is that a vein throbbing from his forehead_?

“You fucking—!”

As expected, Rin has no chill either.

Rei mercifully interjects before things could escalate any further, “Happy birthday and welcome back, Rin-san. Are you staying with Sousuke-san for the duration of your visit?”

Rin’s head snaps forcefully to the other side, his ponytail slapping Haruka in the face. It was something that was clearly done on purpose. Oh, Rin will feign ignorance and _claim_ it was an accident, but he knows better. The jackass knew exactly what he was doing.

“Eh? Still with the -san, Rei? We’re not in high school anymore. I’m pretty sure we’ve known each other long enough for you to stop being so formal! Haru, tell him!”

But Haruka isn’t about to let Rin get his way. Retaliation is now the name of the game4. If Rin wants to be petty, well, he can be plenty petty too.

Haruka shrugs impassively, lulling his short-fused friend into a false sense of security. “Rei, it’s okay if you just call him shark week.”

Rin nods sagely, “See? That wasn’t so–wait, what?! You fucking assho—!”

“It’s not my fault you have weird teeth,” he cuts him off dully. Rin sputters furiously and Haruka briefly wonders if that’s a step too far but dismisses it before he can finish the thought.

“They’re not weird!” he snaps indignantly. “They’re just a little pointy, you little fuc—”

Makoto claps a strong hand on both their shoulders, effectively ending whatever insignificant spat was brewing between them. “Now, now, there’s no need for that. We’re here to celebrate, remember? Now, let’s get a table and have _nice, blood free_ dinner, okay?”

The heavy hands squeeze them until they both wince. The semi-threatening tone doesn’t match the overly bright and gleaming smile on Makoto’s face but it effectively puts them back in their corners.

For now.

Rin combs his fingers through his long, wind-blown, maroon hair and straightens his (entirely imagined) disheveled clothes. Rin flashes him a glare the exact moment Makoto’s back is turned. Even he knows better than to risk upsetting Makoto.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” he growls in defiance.

He shrugs, “Whatever you say, Jaws.” Rin snarls and launches at him again but Sousuke uses his considerable might and grabs him by the collar and shoves him through the door.

He feels Sousuke’s teal eyes boring into him, “You just have to provoke him, don’t you, Nanase?”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs at Sousuke’s dismay, “You’re one to talk. Isn’t that your favorite pastime?”

Sousuke chokes back snort, laughing into his fist. He takes that as confirmation. Yamazaki clearly has no chill either.

“He’s just so damn easy to rile up,” Sousuke confides and he has to agree. It’s highly amusing and all kinds of entertaining to watch Rin’s face go through various shades anger, annoyance, embarrassment, and indignation. The fact that it doesn’t take much to trigger it, makes it all the more hilarious. After all, seeing how quickly he snaps back is half the fun.

Haruka hums, “I’m sure Rin would have something to say about that.”

Sousuke chokes out a snort, “I’m sure Rin has something to say about a lot of things.”

As they follow their host guiding them to their table, he observes Yamazaki out of the corner of his eye. He rather not say anything that would give away his discomfort lest Yamazaki end up lording it over him but he really needs to know. “About this karaoke thing…” He starts but Sousuke quickly interjects, “Oh, I’m going to get totally shit-faced." He refuses in no uncertain terms, “There is no way am I going to sit through this nonsense sober.”

Pleased to find that he’s not alone in his feelings, he nods, “Agreed.”

Sometimes, he’s glad he can count on Sousuke to be a bigger grouch than him.

* * *

As it turns out, Sousuke plus alcohol plus karaoke is quite the sight to behold. For all his protesting of karaoke being lame or whatever, he’s actually a bit of a mic hog when inebriated. He slurs through a flurry of super old pop songs—songs that are at least twice his age—and his giant frame lumbers around in an uncoordinated fashion that he thinks is supposed to resemble dancing. It’s all incredibly amusing. And he shoves whoever tries to take the microphone from him. Mikoshiba, however, wasn’t having it though.

Meanwhile, Rin is throwing a shit fit and _crying_ (just as Haruka predicted) over how “a bunch of drunk idiots are ruining his (not) birthday!” Rin really lets Sousuke have it: berating and lecturing him about one thing or another. But Sousuke is too involved with the microphone to pay any attention so Rin ends up yelling at air. Rei tries to keep the peace but, as is always the case, Nagisa thwarts him at every turn—egging them on instead. Kou winds up getting involved, trying to calm her brother down with absolutely no success while the Nitori kid can’t do much except watch helplessly at the idiotic chaos unfolding in front of him.

He slyly pulls out his phone and, as discreetly as he can manage, records a quick video of Sousuke’s—well, pretty much _everyone’s_ —undignified behavior. You know, for posterity’s sake. It’s not like he’ll use it for blackmail or some other nefarious reason. Much.

Shigino crashes into him, nosing in on his recording and breathing down his neck, “Eh? That is too adorable! And funny! Make sure you send me that!”

He shrugs his shoulder harder than necessary in order to dislodge the pink-haired menace but he remains steadfast so he shoves Kisumi’s face away. Sousuke and Mikoshiba wrestle for the microphone until Makoto, the only one that can _physically_ stand up to the two behemoths, loses his patience and gets in between them before things can really get out of control. Although, by his assessment, they passed out-of-control about five minutes ago. It’s total meltdown territory now with Mikoshiba and Yamazaki snapping drunkenly at each other.

Unfazed by Haruka’s repeated rebuffings, Kisumi drapes himself on his arm again, laughing giddily at the scene. Slapping his arm away for the tenth time in the span of five minutes, he glances longingly at Makoto’s barely touched bottle of Kirin. But he opts to _not_ drink anymore for the rest of the evening so he can sit back and enjoy the train wreck. He doesn’t know what a Haruka plus alcohol plus karaoke combination looks like and he sure as hell isn’t risking his dignity to find out.

Even if spending five seconds with Kisumi drives him to reach for a bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1No one believes that, Haru.  
> 2Yes, viruses replicate more easily in cooler weather but it’s still the _virus_ and not the cold weather that makes you sick.  
>  3Poor Haru. His inner musings keep getting interrupted. He's _so_ close! Anyone wanna shove him over? This is becoming a race as to who gets there first. Any bets??  
>  4And if you come at the king, you best not miss.
> 
> Well, it took me six chapters to get the rest of the group in. As you can see, I tried to cram as many of these goobers into this fic as I can. And yet, poor Momo gets left out. This group of dumb-dumbs will be the death of me.


	7. So What? You’re Going Into Hibernation?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruka just looks so happy and peaceful. It fills him with a warmth that curls low in his belly, threatening to spill over. And his heart feels so light and fuzzy that it overwhelms him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been really hard to motivate myself to write, well, anything considering the cesspool we find ourselves submerged in. But it's unhealthy to get obsessed so I forced myself to take just a little bit of time to do something enjoyable. 
> 
> Important lesson of the day: Take care of yourself—stay informed but don't drown in it. 
> 
> Also, I just can’t seem to write a short chapter to save my life. Things tend to get wildly out of control very quickly. This chapter was no exception.

He really didn’t know where else to go. So here he is, standing on the other side of the open door, soaking wet and shivering. He guesses that the last thing Haruka expected to find when he opened his door this evening was his best friend standing there, completely _drenched,_ with a charcoal grey and white kitten cradled against his chest. Hell, it was the last thing _he_ was expecting this evening.

“Ha-Haru…” his voice falters as his teeth chatters uncontrollably. He looks down at the tiny bundle of fur that’s curled against him for warmth. He clutches her tighter, “I found her and it’s cold and wet and I couldn’t just leave her but the shelters are closed and my building doesn’t allow pets and I didn’t know where else I could go and I just…” he trails off, whimpering mournfully. His shoulders slump pitifully. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” 

That seems to snap Haruka out of his surprised daze. He barely finishes his sentence before Haruka springs into action. “Are you crazy, Makoto? Get in here!” He stumbles over his own feet when Haruka drags him in but so incredibly thankful for the sudden rush of warm air from the apartment. “You’re a mess. You’re dripping all over,” Haruka grumbles under his breath.

He shrinks, hunched over from the chill of the winter rain seeping through to his bones. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles miserably. 

Haruka huffs in irritation. Makoto knows that it’s not because of him showing up at his doorstep with an abandoned or lost or orphaned kitten but because it’s a dumb reason to be apologizing.

He’s proven right when Haruka mumbles, “Of all the things to be sorry for…” Haruka plucks the quivering kitten from his arms and places her on the floor. He’s a bit stiff from the cold so Haruka helps him yank his coat off, dropping it to the floor. Haruka sucks in a sympathetic breath, the rain had even soaked through his thick jacket. Haruka grunts at him before rushing away down the hall, “Get your clothes off. I’ll get you a towel.” 

He shakily kicks off his soggy shoes, wincing as he strips, the icy clothes grating against his half-numb skin and stabbing at him like tiny needles. His socks were particularly difficult to peel off—bending is not something he can get his body to do properly without toppling over. He rubs his arms as he waits at the genkan for Haruka to return. The apartment is eerily quiet except for the fat drops of runoff plopping onto the wood floors. 

A fluffy towel is draped over his head, “Don’t you have an umbrella?” Haruka questions as he gingerly towels off. Haruka, being the best human being ever, turns up the heat and picks up the rain drenched clothing and shoves them into a plastic bag. 

He nearly bites his tongue from his teeth chattering so hard, “I di-didn’t know it was s-supposed to rain…” he trails off.

Haruka tsks in disappointment and holds the bag open, staring at him expectantly, “Underwear too,” he shakes the bag for emphasis. 

“Wha—?” he gapes at him incredulously, squeaking his disbelief, “ ** _He-here_**?!”

Haruka might not possess the greatest social graces but even he can’t be serious about having him strip down to _nothing_ at the genkan, right?

“Why not?” Haruka cocks his head in a familiar motion as if he were asking him to go for a quick dip in the ocean instead of getting buck ass naked right at his front door.

A series of incoherent noises erupts from his throat, sputtering in embarrassment, and gestures inarticulately at himself, “I’d be naked!” 

Haruka rolls his eyes and sighs wearily, as if _he_ were the being inconvenienced, “Fine,” he bites out and shoos him away, “Go get changed.”

Haruka takes off his hoodie, wrapping the kitten in the warm cotton, and picks her up, holding her against his chest. A rather large, dark spot quickly bleeds through from her wet fur. Knowing she’s in good hands, he carefully tiptoes to Haruka’s bedroom as quickly as possible, not wanting to track too many wet footprints onto the pristine hardwood floors. He faintly hears Haruka talking to the kitten in soft, dulcet tones as he digs through his designated drawer. 

“Makoto. Bring an extra towel when you’re done,” Haruka’s voice drifts down the hall. 

“’kay!” 

He painfully strips out of the final piece of clothing, wincing as the frigid cotton scrapes over his sensitive flesh. He gingerly finishes drying off, grabs the green and yellow striped flannel pajama bottoms, and pulls them on. He ambles to the closet and pulls out a clean towel. 

He emerges from the hallway, still squeezing the water from his hair. “Hey, Haru… I can’t seem to find any of my shirts.”

Handing Haruka the fresh towel, he discards the sweatshirt he had her wrapped in and begins gently rubbing the kitten. He feels Haruka’s eyes on him, blinking owlishly, his eyes discerning and impossibly blue. The scrutiny makes him squirm, he can almost feel Haruka’s gaze sweeping over his bare chest. A sudden blush blooms over his cheeks and chest and his ears burn at the intensity of Haruka’s attention. 

“They need to be washed,” Haruka finally tells him. 

He hadn’t noticed it earlier in his cold addled brain, but he stutters when he realizes that Haruka is wearing one of his shirts. He glances at the slightly oversized, white and blue striped shirt and extends his hand, palm open. “Just… Just give me that one.” 

Haruka furrows his brows and leans back against the cushions. “ _Excuse me?_ ” 

He gestures vaguely at his torso, “The one you’re wearing right now.”

Haruka’s brows draw even closer together, “Uh, why would I do that?”

His head jerks slightly, confused with the mere premise of the question. “Uh, because it’s my shirt?”

Haruka scoffs in disagreement, “I don’t think so.”

Makoto does a double take, “Wha-? Haru, that’s  _my_ shirt.”

Stubbornly, Haruka insists otherwise. “No, it’s not.”

Is Haruka trying to gaslight him? “ _Yes_. It. Is.”

“Since when?” Haruka challenges. 

“Since always!” he stamps his feet childishly. 

Haruka flicks his wrist dismissively. “You’re remembering incorrectly.”

“ _You’re_ the one that got me that shirt!” he reminds him in exasperation. 

“Right. So it’s  _my_ shirt.” Haruka calmly declares as if it were the most obvious conclusion. 

He stands gobsmacked at Haruka’s insistence. “For _my_ birthday!” Makoto moans in anguish.

“Don’t be so selfish, Makoto.” Haruka rises from his seat and hands the shivering kitten back, “I’ll find you something else.”

Haruka leaves the room and he replays their conversation in confusion. What on the ever loving earth was that? He has never seen Haruka so possessive over anything—much less over a freaking T-shirt. It was hardly anything special. And what’s all this business about his shirts needing to be laundered? He left a half-full drawer of shirts here but he hasn’t spent the night at Haruka’s in at least a week. So why—?

 _Oh_. 

He clutches the tiny kitten tightly to his chest, rubbing his nose in its soft fur. He curls into himself bashfully when he realizes that it must mean that Haruka has been _choosing_ to wear his shirts around the apartment even though he has a full wardrobe to choose from. The wild thumping in his chest and tightness in his gut makes him frown in confusion. It’s not as if Haruka wearing his clothes is a new thing. They’ve borrowed each other’s clothes throughout their childhood. Well, at least until he (permanently) outgrew Haruka’s clothes. So why is it making him feel so warm and flustered? Why does it—?

His train of thought is abruptly derailed when he hears the raspy quiver in the kitten’s mewls. Makoto loosens his hold on her, cooing apologetically and reassuring her that she’s safe and that he’ll take care of her. Haruka returns with a t-shirt, throwing it over his shoulder and taking the kitten back. 

“That’s the biggest one I have,” Haruka shrugs flippantly and returns to the couch. 

Flabbergasted with the flimsiness of the shirt, he holds the dark blue henley up against his torso and looks incredulously at Haruka, “ _This_ is the biggest shirt you own?” The shirt in question stops just short of his hips and he already knows he’s going to look ridiculous in it. Also, he’s not very confident that his arms will even fit through the sleeves, or if they do, he can’t guarantee that the seams won’t pop if he so much as bends an arm. 

Haruka turns his head and scowls at him, “My apologies. I mean that’s the _smallest_ one I have.”  _I took the time and effort to look for something that would **maybe** fit and you’re going to complain about it?_

His mouth quickly snaps shut. A snarky Haruka means an annoyed Haruka so he sighs. Of course, all of this could have been avoided if Haruka would just give him  _his_ damn shirt back. He twists the fabric between his fingers and sighs. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting anyway. While Haruka is by no means small— _Nagisa_ is small—he is still a bit taller than him. Haruka had grown several centimeters since high school, but so had he. Okay, Haruka’s seven versus his three but it totally still counts! 

Plus, he’s broader and bulkier despite Haruka putting on an impressive amount of muscle during these last few years of steady training. Not so much that he can start a second career as a bodybuilder—he’s still as lean and lithe and graceful as ever, his swimmer’s body not diminishing in the slightest—but enough for it to be noticeable by anyone paying an iota of attention. Haruka fills out his own shirts a bit more and _his_ shirts don’t hang off him as much like it did a mere two years ago. He’s much more…  _defined_. 

He tugs on the soft cotton over his head and predictably, he looks foolish. It’s even shorter than when he held it up against himself—having filled it out with his wide chest and shoulders. It rides up no matter how he pulls at it and his jutting hip bones remains exposed to the cool air and Haruka’s unblinking and curious gaze. Flustered, Makoto tosses the towel at Haruka’s head, which he deftly ducks.

“Stop staring. It’s rude,” he mutters glumly.

Except Haruka doesn’t stop. If anything, his gaze intensifies, seemingly becoming  _more_ fascinated. Haruka reaches out with warm fingers and gently prods at the sinewy muscle stretched over his hip, “What is this?”

The jolt that proceeds the touch takes him by surprise and he reflexively slaps his hand away. Haruka scowls, as if _he’s_ the one that poked _him_. “It’s called a muscle. You have the same one. I don’t see what’s so interesting about it.” He tugs at the hem over said muscle, but it immediately rides back up as soon as he lets go.

“Mine does _not_ looks like that.” Haruka lets the kitten rub her head against the crook of his arm. “Come on, you took anatomy. What’s it called?” He rests his head against the back of the couch, his large, blue eyes peering up at him in fascination. 

He sighs, his modesty forcing him to tug at the shirt, _again_ , to conceal the muscle in question, and grumbles, “It’s the dorsal hip muscle.” 

Haruka reaches out and pokes him again, this time at his soft belly, and shoots him a tiny, lopsided grin, “I must be feeding you well, Makoto.” 

He flinches from him, batting his hands away, “It’s _winter_ , Haru.” 

Haruka’s usual deadpan is in place but the gleam in his eyes and wry semi-grin indicates his amusement, “Oh? So what? You’re going into hibernation?”

He pouts at his teasing, “Ha-ha. Very funny. I mean, I haven’t really had the motivation to hit the gym, okay? Not like I’d have the time even if I were motivated…”

“I can come wake you up,” Haruka offers plainly, “We can go jogging in the mornings.” 

That’s not really something he has _any_ interest in. Hell, that’s not something he thought _Haruka_ had any interest in—he _hates_ land training. Besides, he would much rather sleep in. For as late as possible, thank you very much. But he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. “Maybe when it’s not snowing. Or raining.” 

Haruka nods, seemingly satisfied with the answer. He maneuvers to kneel, leaning against the back of the couch and holds her out to him, “She has your eyes.” 

He gazes at the kitty and scratches his cheek shyly, “You think so?” 

Haruka nods firmly, peering into her eyes and then at his. He smiles softly—just a tiny one that’s nearly imperceptible—and it’s the most captivating curve of the lips he ever had the pleasure of receiving from him. “Same exact shade of green,” he murmurs almost hypnotically. Haruka shakes his head, abruptly thrusting the kitten into his arms, “Here. Take her. I’ll make her something to eat.”

Following him as Haruka rises to his feet and pads over to the kitchen, he watches Haruka rummaging through the cabinets. “What are you looking for?” 

“Evaporated milk. I know I have some but…” Haruka squats down and opens another cabinet, “Ah. Found it.” 

Haruka then reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out an egg. Makoto watches intently as Haruka mixes the evaporated milk with the egg yolk. He transfers the mixture into a clean jar and runs it under hot water. Haruka then places the egg-evaporated milk concoction to the side. He looks around for a straw. 

“What for?” Makoto asks curiously. He should probably learn this stuff given his penchant for befriending cute, helpless creatures like the one currently nuzzling at his chest. 

“She’s looks too young to be eating on her own. We’ll have to hand feed her and I don’t have a dropper.” Haruka finally finds a usable straw after having torn it from a boxed drink and nods his head toward the dining table, “Sit. You hold; I’ll feed.”

He sits at the table and Haruka pulls a chair next to him, close enough for him to smell the chlorine that seems to have taken a permanent residence in his hair. It’s a comforting scent that reminds him of the long summers they spent together during childhood. And once again, he finds himself being reminded of  _home_. His nose follows the scent as Haruka sits down. He catches himself before he can make a spectacular fool out of himself by burying his nose in his smooth black hair. 

“You have to hold her head so she doesn’t move. I don’t want her to choke on the straw.” Haruka’s gentle fingers sends a shock of heat through his veins as he manipulates his larger ones until they cradle her—his fingers framing her face as he holds her head up. She whines, mewling her displeasure at being literally manhandled. He’s tempted to pull away and console her but she needs to feed so he tamps down his instincts and holds her the way Haruka demonstrated. 

Haruka starts small; placing his finger at the top of the straw and trapping a tiny amount of the milky substance within. Her nose twitches when she smells food. She laps at the straw, drinking down the liquid and mewls for more. They continue like that, feeding her quietly until Haruka determines she’s had enough. She whines for more but Haruka shakes his head.

“If she has too much, she’ll throw up. About a teaspoon is enough. Besides this is only temporary. She needs a milk replacer,” Haruka explains patiently. 

He really should learn all this. If it were him, he would have fed her to her heart’s content. 

Makoto gently rubs her soft belly when she stretches in his arms. Smiling contently at her, he turns to Haruka, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. “How do you know all this, Haru-chan?” 

“It’s not the first time I’ve done this." Haruka walks away from the table in order to store the mixture into the refrigerator and continues with his earlier thought. “Remember that white stray back home?” He nods, how could he forget. He loved playing with her. “Who do you think fed her?”

His eyes widen at that. He hadn’t realized that that was the reason she stuck so closely to Haruka’s house. Sure, he’s seen him play with her a few times but he hadn’t realized that Haruka had taken it upon himself to feed her. Although, he isn’t all that surprised. Despite his aloof exterior, Haruka has a bit of a soft spot for animals. 

“I didn’t know that.”

“I wasn’t exactly advertising that fact.” He sits back down and scratches the back of her ears. “We’ll go to the shelter tomorrow. Get her checked out, get some supplies, and go from there.” 

He blinks at Haruka curiously, “Are… are you keeping her, Haru-chan?” 

“ _We_ , Makoto. We’ll make posters, do all that business in case she’s lost but if no one claims her,” Haruka shrugs indifferently, “why not? It’s not like I haven’t done this before.” 

“Haru!” He launches himself at Haruka, hugging him tightly, “You’re such a good person, Haru-chan!” 

“Makoto,” Haruka wheezes, “you’re squishing her.” 

“Oh! Sorry, kitty,” he gently rubs her head apologetically. He scratches her chin and she leans into him, purring in contentment. “Haru-chan is so kind, isn’t he, little neko-chan?” 

Haruka turns away, his fringe swishing with the abrupt jerking. He tries to hide his face but the pinkness blooming against his pale skin is pretty hard to miss. “What are you talking about?” 

Makoto chuckles at his discomfort but it’s short lived as Haruka swings his head back. He nearly swallows his tongue in surprise at the sudden movement. Haruka’s glare is half-hearted at best, with no real heat behind it but it’s still enough for him to scrounge up an apology. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.” 

Haruka returns his focus back onto the kitten and nods firmly, “Saba.” 

He looks up in confusion, “… Dinner, Haru-chan?” 

“Drop the -chan and yeah, I haven’t eaten yet. You’re staying, right?”

He nods, “If you’ll have me.” 

Haruka gives him a flat look, “It’s pouring out there, Makoto. It would be cruel to send you out on this weather. But I meant her name.” 

He seems to have trouble keeping up with the conversation. When did he name her? “Her… name?” 

“ _Sa. Ba._ ” He enunciates. Haruka rolls his eyes as he’s still blinking at him blankly, “Her _name_ is Saba.” 

 _Oh_. He hears his jaw click shut in surprise before arguing, “Haru! You can’t name her after a fish!” 

Haruka’s eyes narrow, his disagreement written plaintively in his expression. “I can and I will. Since she’s staying with me, I get to name her and her name is Saba.”

He frowns in resignation—he is putting Haruka out by foisting her on him so he should be able to name her. But Saba? Really?

Haruka squeezes his shoulder as gets up from his seat, “Go find a box and some clean linens. She needs to stay warm so she can stay in my room for now; keep her  _away_ from the heater though. I’ll start dinner.”

Makoto putters around the apartment and does as Haruka instructed, collecting the necessary materials and tucking some linens against the box tightly—making sure that she won’t be able to claw at it and accidentally suffocate herself. He puts the sleepy kitty— _Saba_ , he reminds himself—in the makeshift bed and pats her head. 

“Good night, Saba-chan,” he smiles gently at her even breathing. He stands up, stretching his arms over his head and letting out a loud breath. 

“I knew you’d like the name,” Haruka says softly. Startled, he spins around, finding Haruka leaning against the door jam. “Saba is a good name. Bet she’ll like some too.” Haruka pushes away from the door, gliding back toward the kitchen, “You should go take a shower. Dinner will be ready with you’re done.” 

“Thanks, Haru.” Makoto shuffles anxiously and then asks, “You don’t happen to have your _second_ biggest shirt lying around, do you? This one is already starting to smell like rain.” 

“Knock yourself out,” Haruka shoots over his shoulder. 

He helps himself to Haruka’s wardrobe; he’s sure there has to something suitable for him. He feels the cotton threads of his borrowed shirt stretch over his shoulders, back, and chest as it struggles to contain him and he swears he’s going to rip the seams of the shirt. _Haru would probably have a shit fit_. He hangs his head in disappointment—four drawers full of shirts and not a single one would accommodate him comfortably. Again, if Haruka would just _literally_ give him the shirt off his back, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. He swipes a tee that’s buried at the bottom; one that he knows Haruka doesn’t wear very often—or at all, really—and _probably_ won’t miss should he actually Hulk out of them. 

He stays under the hot shower a little longer than he usually would; letting the scalding hot water pound his back and shoulders and urging the chill that settled in his bones to melt away. He sighs contently, just enjoying the way the water pelts at his skin and muscles and relishing the feel of his fingers scrubbing at his scalp. He rolls his neck, trying to work out the kink stuck there. As he goes through the motions of lathering up, Haruka suddenly pokes his head in to let him know that dinner is ready. 

“Haru!” he squeals indignantly as he unsuccessfully tries to cover himself up; going back and forth between covering his chest and his more, uh,  _private_ regions. “Naked! And showering! And naked!”

In turn, Haruka simply stays at the open door and cocks his head to the side, causing his hair to fall into his eyes, unconcerned with his state of sudsy undress. His eyes are so bright that he can make out the exact shade of blue even through the steam fogging up the room. He notes that they’re a smidge darker than usual. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Haruka calmly informs him again, as if he _wasn’t_ standing in his bathroom _**naked**_. 

“I heard you!” he hates the broken squeak in his voice, “Can I finish, please?”

Haruka lifts an amused brow, his eyes sparkling as he smirks, “Sure…”

 _Oh. Wait… No, that’s not…_  “That’s not—!”

Haruka turns to go, his mirth audible in his voice. “By all means, _finish_ whatever it is you were doing.”

Makoto gapes at Haruka’s retreating back. _What… what was that tone?!_ He’s almost compelled to stop Haruka from leaving to clarify that _that is_ **not** what he meant but realizes it’s an exercise in futility. (Also, _he’s still naked_.) Haruka _knows_ that that’s not what he meant; he’s just willfully misinterpreting the words for _entertainment_. 

When did he get so inappropriately cheeky? Jerk. It has to be Sousuke’s influence. Or Rin’s. Or Nagisa’s. Or rather more accurately,  _all_ of them. 

He quickly rinses off, too embarrassed to linger under the water any longer no matter how good it felt. He wanders out into the living room, arms folded across his chest as he’s still feeling a bit embarrassed and _completely_ self-conscious. The impossibly tight shirt pulled taut over his torso does not help the self-consciousness in any way. All of a sudden, he’s hyper aware of the way Haruka eyes him, his eyebrow cocking in… appraisal? Appreciation? Which just makes him **_even more self-conscious_**. Did he have to look at him like that? He just doesn’t seem to know what to do with all these strange instances of Haruka’s lingering touches and gazes. He often feels like idiot and a hundred kinds of nervous but he has no idea _why_. 

It’s Haruka. 

Haruka whom he’s known all his life. Whom he grew up with. He is his _friend_. But now, there seems to be this undercurrent of…  _something_ swirling just below the surface that threatens to sweep him away. Sweep him away to something new and exciting and scary all at the same time. Seemingly every interaction is tinged with a flood of warmth and radiance that it makes him anxious and lightheaded. It’s nerve racking and, while embarrassing, it’s also makes him… antsy. Antsy for something he hasn’t quite put a name to yet. Or rather, not brave enough to put a name on yet. 

His line of internal musing is halted at Haruka’s reminiscent tone. “There’s a shirt I haven’t seen in a while,” fond nostalgia colors his voice. “It looks good on you,” Haruka nods firmly. 

He looks down at himself, Mizushimashima-chan is comically disfigured due to the cotton being stretched across his pectorals. Haruka can’t be serious.

“Are you kidding? I look ridiculous!” Makoto folds his arms again, “I feel like an idiot.”

“I want that back,” Haruka informs him firmly.

His eyes widen in dismay; did Haruka honestly think he wouldn’t return it? “I wouldn’t keep it! When would I wear it?!” 

“You’re wearing it right now,” he states the obvious, ignoring how they got to this point in the first place. 

He stamps his foot, Haruka is being deliberately obtuse. “Because there’s nothing else to wear!”

Haruka ignores his protests and points to an empty seat, “Dinner. Sit.”

Makoto huffs in frustration and shuffles over, his anxiety spilling over into his movements. _It’s just Haru. Stop spazzing_.

Dinner is udonsuki and he has to smile at that. Once again, Haruka has prepared the _perfect_ meal for this dreary weather. _Haruka_ is perfect. He always knows exactly what he wants even when he doesn’t know what he wants. He can feel the back of his neck heat up at the thought. 

“Sousuke still has futon,” Haruka mumbles after swallowing a mouthful of soup. 

He laughs, humming in amusement. “You’re probably never getting it back.” 

“Good thing I got a double.”

He sighs, lamenting his failure to do the same. “I should have gotten a double too. But it wouldn’t fit in my room. I probably wouldn’t even get it through the door. I live in a cardboard box.” 

Haruka shakes his head and corrects him, “It’s cozy. And quaint.”

Makoto snorts dismissively, “Quaint: code word for cardboard box.” It’s comforting to know that despite the subject of his inner turmoil sitting right across from him, he quickly falls back into easy conversation with Haruka. 

* * *

The next morning, they set out to the closest animal shelter to get Saba checked. They walked, mostly because they were pretty sure the train doesn’t allow pets, unless it’s a service animal. And they weren’t particularly keen on actually looking up the policy at the time, so walking it was. Which turned out to be a grave mistake. While it was unusually sunny—any evidence of last night’s raging storm was all but erased in the light of day—it was still bitterly cold. 

Saba was given a clean bill of health, if a little wheezy from being out in the cold and rain for an extended period of time. They’re currently roaming around the pet store for various supplies: milk replacement, bedding, kitty litter, a collar, and a couple of toys. 

He juggles the items in his arms and furrows his brows, “Haru…?” He waits for Haruka to acknowledge him with a quiet hum, “This doesn’t feel like a make-flyers-for-a-lost-kitten plan.” 

Haruka glances at him from the corner of his eye, “What are you talking about? These are just the basic necessities.” 

Makoto grins at Haruka, wanting to reach over to pet Saba but the armful of kitty products makes it impossible. 

The items are quickly paid for and, after braving the cold once again, he faces Haruka in a panic, “Oh no, Haru! I haven’t even asked if your building allows pets!” 

Haruka shrugs indifferently, not caring about things he deems trivial, “It doesn’t matter.” 

Makoto isn’t about to let Haruka brush this aside because it actually isn’t trivial despite his thoughts on it otherwise. “Of course it matters, Haru! I don’t want you to get evicted!” 

“It’s just for a little while, Makoto. Until she gets better.” Haruka gives him another careless shrug, “I’ll just say I’m cat sitting.” 

He’s tempted to laugh at his hypothetical excuse. “That’s something five-year-olds say to their parents, Haru.” 

“I know,” Haruka looks at him pointedly, “I’m well aware.” 

He flushes in embarrassment when he remembers he had done exactly that with his own parents when he was younger. “Hey! That was like, 15 years ago!” 

Haruka fully faces him, his round, blue eyes impossibly bright and filled with determination, “It’s fine, Makoto. I won’t let anything happen to Saba.” 

Haruka turns and continues the walk back toward his apartment. He sighs, his shoulders sagging—there really isn’t anything he can say or do that will make Haruka change his mind. He peeks over at Haruka and grins at how quickly he’s grown attached to her. Tucking her into his coat in order to keep her warm, Haruka cuddles her into his chest, nuzzling his cheek against her head. The corners of Haruka’s eyes crinkle adorably as he smiles affectionately when her fur tickles his nose and he finds that he can’t help himself from smiling along. Haruka just looks so happy and peaceful. It fills him with a warmth that curls low in his belly, threatening to spill over. And his heart feels so light and fuzzy that it overwhelms him.

There it is **_again_**. What is this feeling? His hands are sweaty and clammy despite the freezing weather. His ears and nose are burning not from the cold but from a red, hot heat he can’t seem to explain. Every time Haruka brushes up against him, he can feel his skin tingle—even through the layers. Hell, he feels the tingling down to his bones. And every time he catches a small, unguarded smile directed at him, his breath catches in his throat, the heavy air clinging in his lungs. His heart flutters so hard and sends him into such a tizzy that he’s sure he’s going to pass out. As if his heart is trying to desperately claw out of his chest. 

He freezes in place, shock overwhelming every bodily system when  _it_  dawns on him. 

_Oh._

_**Oh.** _

_Oh, that can’t be. Can it?_

_This can’t possibly be._

_Shit._

“Shit.” 

Haruka looks to his left and finds his best friend missing from his side. Confused, Haruka quickly scans and finds him a few meters behind him, staring at him with wild and bewildered eyes, “Makoto?”

He blinks rapidly, trying to refocus but failing because all of a sudden Haruka is no longer a couple of meters away from him. Haruka is so close that he can smell the faint citrus of his soap from this morning’s bath. 

Haruka’s concerned eyes makes him breathless. “Are you okay?” 

"I…” He starts but doesn’t know how to complete it.

“What’s wrong?” Haruka tilts his head worriedly.

_Nothing’s **wrong** per se. _

“Are you getting sick?” he reaches up to feel his forehead.

_Something like that…_

“Because you look a little queasy.” 

_I **feel** a little queasy.  _

Haruka puckers his lips and makes a decision. He grabs his wrist, gently tugging him along, “Come on, I’ll make you some soup. That always makes you feel better.” 

He stares at the long, pale, slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. Haruka failed to put on gloves yet again and his fingers are close to freezing but all he can feel is the quiet, gentle warmth radiating from them. And _shit_ , it feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest with it beating so damn fast. The heart is a really strong muscle so there’s a definite possibility that his heart will break through his rib cage before the day is over. Is this what it feels like to be attracted to someone?

“You lecture me about wearing gloves and a scarf. Meanwhile, _you’re_ the one getting sick despite wearing all that,” Haruka teases. Haruka continues, having a one-sided debate with Saba over what kind of soup he should make.

_This isn’t fair._

_This isn’t supposed to happen._

_There is no way this **should** be happening. _

_Haru couldn’t possibly—_

“Is everything okay?” Haruka asks again, unable to hide his concern for him when he notices how silent he’d grown. He swallows roughly and gives him a uneasy nod and shaky smile. 

Sure, everything is perfectly fine. If fine meant having a total meltdown because how are you supposed to tell your best friend that you maybe, kind of, sort of, _definitely_  like him? That you’re maybe, kind of, sort of, definitely _in love_ with him? _Should_ he even tell him?

A wave of excitement races over him at the prospect but a tiny hint of doubt prevents him from opening his mouth right then and there. Because he can’t bear the thought of losing Haruka’s friendship. The very thought makes his stomach turn. He wouldn’t be able to bear it if his…  _romantic_ feelings for Haruka ends up ruining…  _everything_. 

_Shit._

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulation, Makoto! You made it!  
> Now you just have to wait for Haru to get there. I guess just take your time, Haru… 
> 
> I just realized… these two really spend a lot of time at Haru’s apartment. Specifically, eating at Haru’s apartment. Now you know what my priorities in life are…


	8. You Wear His Shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto hums in agreement, nuzzling his cheek in the crook of Haruka’s neck, his blazing hot lips grazing lightly at his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be a bit of a slow down in updates after this (even slower than this? you may be asking, and the answer is unfortunately, yes). So... Sorry about that.  
> But as usual, enjoy!

Juggling the large load of brown paper bags in his arms turns out to be a lot harder than he anticipated. It almost feels like an exercise in futility. Especially having to climb up three flights of stairs. He swears this complex is falling apart with how often the elevator is out of service. He eventually makes it, having to occasionally peer over the bags to check on his footing.

Balancing the bags on his knee, he digs into his jeans for his keys. Quickly slipping the right key into the lock, his brows furrow in confusion; Makoto _never_ leaves the door unlocked. As he steps over the threshold, he’s greeted with an unnerving darkness: lights off, curtains tightly drawn shut. 

 _Curious and curiouser_. 

After slipping out of his boots, he deposits the groceries in the kitchenette and flings open the curtains. A plume of dust flies into his face, forcing him into a hasty retreat as he sneezes uncontrollably into the crook of his elbow. Dazed, he shakes his head, trying to clear the floating squigglies that clouds his field of vision after the unexpected sneezing fit. When was the last time Makoto dusted?

“Makoto?” He sniffs as he rounds down the hall, calling for Makoto. “Makoto, I’m here.”

Instead of the eager feet rushing out to cheerfully greet him like he was expecting, he’s met with nothing but an eerie silence. He knows for a fact that Makoto’s classes have already ended so he should be home by now. He creeps further in the apartment, finding Makoto’s bedroom door cracked open and an unmoving lump on the bed.

He lets out a snort of amused disbelief, “Really, Makoto? Come on, it’s time to get up.” There’s still no answer. Not even a hint of movement under the comforter.

That’s when he feels it. Something is terribly wrong. Makoto isn’t feigning sleep, nor is he taking a mid-afternoon nap. Something is really, _seriously_ wrong. Haruka swiftly tears off his coat, discarding it carelessly on the floor, and quickly climbs onto the bed. Digging into the blankets and pillows, he finds a sweaty, disheveled, and sickly Makoto.

“Makoto!” He brushes Makoto’s matted hair out of his face but is burned for his troubles. “You’re burning up!”

Makoto’s eyes flutter groggily, squinting at his direction, “M’mmy?” Makoto slurs sleepily.

Haruka smooths his hair out of his face again, his eyes roaming worriedly over his quivering body. “Makoto, can you hear me? Shit, you have a fever.”

“Oh,” Makoto murmurs sluggishly, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Izdat why?” Makoto’s head lolls back weakly.

“Makoto!” He cups the back of his head, gently laying him back down. Makoto whines hoarsely when he pulls the soaked comforter from his overheated body. “You’re drenched.” He coaxes Makoto to sit up but all he can do is slump against Haruka, his head dropping into his chest. “Come on, we need to get you in the bath.”

Haruka helps him swing his legs over the edge and lifts him up, slinging Makoto’s right arm over his shoulders and hooking his left arm around Makoto’s waist as they stagger their way toward the bathroom. Haruka has to occasionally plead with a weak and defenseless Makoto to, “at least help me out a little.” The exertion from dragging the large, near lifeless body combined with the intense heat radiating from Makoto’s feverish body causes Haruka to break into a sweat, dripping down the back of his neck. He kicks the bathroom door open and gently sets Makoto down on the shower stool, propping him up against the wall, before going to turn on the tap.

Makoto leans against the tiles, his eyes flickering open and shut as he tries to follow Haruka’s movements. A harsh wheeze seizes Makoto’s chest, giving him pause. “Ish we haffin’ a old b’th, H’ru-chan?”

Well, at least Makoto didn’t mistake him for his mother this time. Small favors.

He looks incredulously at his best friend after deciphering the garble of words. “What? No. A cold bath would make your fever _worse,_ ” he explains matter of factly.

Makoto visibly deflates at that. “Oh.” His bottom lip quivers and his green eyes begin to water with tears. His chest shudders and his body shakes as he’s wracked with… guilt?

Mood swings are common when you’re sick. Your brain turns to mush and does funny things to you. You can’t really think and when you do, it’s a jumbled mess that doesn’t make sense to anyone but you. Your emotions go through the wringer, with more twists and turns than the twistiest, turniest rollercoaster in the world. He knows all that but it doesn’t lessen Haruka’s alarm at the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Makoto?” he probes hesitantly.

“Thass why,” he sniffles nasally, wiping the dripping snot away with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “I… took a c’ld bath lass night,” he whimpers mournfully.

Haruka abandons the tub and crawls in front of him, trying to soothe his unnecessary tears, “Hey, it’s okay, Makoto. You didn’t know.”

“I made e’rythin’ batter!” Makoto bawls, either ignoring or not hearing Haruka’s soothing words.

“It’s okay,” Haruka patiently repeats.

But he continues to blubber, “’m s-sorry!” Makoto’s apology stutters in his chest, making it even harder for him to breathe. Crying really isn’t the most helpful of activities when your respiratory system is already compromised.

Haruka kneels in front of him, gently grasping his face between his hands, and trying to draw his attention. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re sick. You have a fever. You’re not thinking clearly. It’s okay,” he reiterates once again with his most soothing voice. “We’ll get you sorted, okay? Make things better.”

“W-we will?” Makoto asks with hopeful eyes even through a series of wet, soggy hiccups.

He takes a silent sigh of relief, “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

The quivering lip and teary eyes are back but thankfully, they’re not of despair. With no strength left in him, Makoto slides along the wall, falling on Haruka, trying to, what he can only assume, hug him. “Dank ’ou, H’ru-chan,” his gratitude muffled in his sweatshirt.

Haruka sighs. How in the world did Makoto’s mother deal with an overly needy, emotional, and deliriously sick Makoto? Because she deserves a Nobel prize for it. He pats Makoto’s back gingerly, his hand burning at the contact even through the thick cotton of the sweatshirt.

He smooths a hand over his wide shoulder blades. Despite his lack of motivation for hitting the gym, Makoto’s back is as sculpted as ever, his lats and delts firm and sturdy. One of the benefits of specializing in the backstroke, he supposes. …And that is an inappropriate observation to be making at an inappropriate time.

“Come on, we need to get you out of these clothes,” he mumbles the same time his fingers grip at his hem.

Makoto hums in agreement, nuzzling his cheek in the crook of Haruka’s neck, his blazing hot lips grazing lightly at his throat. His eyes flutter shut as he shivers at the inadvertently intimate contact. He can feel his own pulse spike and thrum against the heated skin of Makoto’s cheek. He feels his face flare up with heat, although, he doesn’t really understanding why. Still, Haruka swallows raggedly as he feels the heavy weight of what can only be described as embarrassment welling up in his chest. A hacking cough breaks him out of his daze, reminding him that Makoto is still in need of his help. He eases the shirt off Makoto, taking care not to jostle him too much.

Makoto’s skin feels even clammier than he expected and frowns at his sluggish movements. “How long as this been going on, Makoto?”

Makoto tries to lift his head but only able to roll his head against Haruka’s shoulder. His congestion makes it difficult to hear the words clearly. “S-since tha lass time I sawed you?”

Haruka untangles Makoto from his sweatshirt. He calculates when he saw him last and his eyes bug out of his head, “Three days? Makoto! Wha—Why didn’t you call me?”

Makoto mumbles so lowly that he has to strain to hear him. “’n’t bovver H’ru-chan wiff this…”

Haruka huffs in dismay, “What do you take me for, Makoto? We’re supposed to take care of each other, remember? I promised your mother and you promised mine. What am I going to tell her when she hears about this? How will I ever be able to look at her again?”

The crying starts again and he immediately regrets his guilt trip. He should have saved it for when Makoto is feeling better.

“’m—’m sho sorry, Haru-chan! ’mtareable.” There’s so much mucus-y sniffling and hiccuping that it’s hard to make out exactly what Makoto is wailing about but Haruka gets the general gist of it.

He rubs gentle circles on his back while Makoto shoves his fever induced heated cheeks into his shoulder. Making Makoto feel even worse wasn’t his intention but he just really needed Makoto to understand that his health is important. That this careless neglect for his general wellbeing is _not_ acceptable. But again, he really should have held his tongue for when Makoto was lucid enough for it.

He softly strokes Makoto’s temple, murmuring gently but firmly, “You’re not terrible. Makoto could never be terrible. You are, however, silly for thinking I’d be bothered by this. I’m here for you, Makoto. No matter what.”

Makoto sniffs loudly and nods against him. Haruka pulls away from him, grabs a clean towel, and wipes Makoto’s face clean of salty tears and snot. His heart leaps into his throat and he blushes at the tentative, watery, almost punch-drunky smile Makoto gives him.

He looks down and flicks the stretchy band of his sweatpants. “We need to take this off too, okay?”

Makoto nods but Haruka is pretty sure he did it out of habit. He’s not sure if Makoto’s fever addled brain is processing properly. He goes ahead anyway but Makoto’s hands scramble to stop him. “Yuu caan’t!” 

Haruka takes a deep breathe, squashing down his impatience. “Makoto, I have to.”

“Noooo! H’ru-chan ant shee me naykid!” he whines nasally.

Haruka sighs patiently and reminds Makoto, “I’ve seen you naked before. Lots of times. More times than I can count. I saw you naked just a few days ago, remember?”

Makoto’s lips pucker in a downward curl, the creases in his forehead deepening as he fights for that memory. “Oh. Yah.”

“Right. So we need to clean you up and get you in the bath, okay?”

Any fight Makoto had two seconds ago seem to fade and he leans against the shower tiles. He tugs at his sweats futilely. He tries to get Makoto to lift up but he’s far too weak to comply properly. After several minutes of fighting the thick fabric, he finally wrestles the cotton — and his boxers — down Makoto’s legs.

He approaches this as clinically as possible because he really has seen Makoto naked hundreds of times and this time should be no different. But no matter how many times he tells himself that, he can’t really bring himself to believe it because it _is_ different. For some annoying, stupid, unfathomable reason, it’s different. First and foremost, it’s just them — no teammates, no competitors, no friends, or rivals. Secondly, Makoto isn’t well enough for him to tease into embarrassment. So in spite of Makoto’s illness and delusions, there’s an air of intimacy that suffocates him. Finally, while he may have seen Makoto naked plenty of times, it’s a decidedly different matter when _he’s_ the one doing the undressing.

He chews his lip distractedly. This really isn’t the time to dwell on things he can’t possibly begin to grapple with. He doesn’t nearly have enough mental _or_ emotional resources to devote to processing these things right now. There are more pressing things to worry about. Like the pale, shivering man that somehow managed to drape himself over his lap. 

Easing him away, so that Makoto is half-on, half-off him, he grabs the bath towel, he dips it into the lukewarm water and wipes Makoto down. Makoto hums and sighs contently at every gentle swipe. He actively avoids Makoto’s more…  _intimate_ areas because contrary to popular belief, Nanase Haruka isn’t rude. Once he determines that he’s cleaned off most of the sweat, he crouches down and slings one of Makoto’s arms over his shoulder. He curls his other arm around his back and hauls him up on the count of three.

Makoto mumbles something unintelligible as they shuffle to the tub. His fingers slip a few times over Makoto’s slick skin, causing him to lose whatever precarious grip he has on him. With every stumble, his heart leaps out of his chest. “Please don’t fall, please don’t fall," he mutters under his breath and sighs in relief when they make it in one piece. He pats himself on the back for the lack split skulls.

He gently eases Makoto into the warm water as Haruka pants in exertion. The tub is… tiny. Makoto’s legs are scrunched up in a way that leaves his knees and most of his thighs and shins above the water but at least he _has_ a tub.

Dropping to his knees, Haruka rests his forehead against the cool porcelain rim of the tub, trying to catch his breath. His chest burns with every heaving breath. Even with all the muscle he’s put on these last few years, dragging a full-sized, limp human body just one measly meter took every bit of energy out of him. This was turning out to be more laborious than a full day’s worth of heats.

Straightening up, Haruka presses a damp cloth against Makoto’s forehead and tells him to stay put — not as if he can go anywhere anyway — and scurries out of the bathroom. He strips off his team sweatshirt, having gotten soaked from various stages of helping Makoto.

He heads directly to the kitchen, slamming into that loose, stupid, useless, swinging cupboard door. “Fuck! Piece of shit!” He kicks it a few more times for good measure before raiding the medicine cabinet. “Where the hell is his ibuprofen?” he growls angrily. Nothing is going his way today. He digs out his cell phone, still raking through the various bottles of medication and the like until a voice at the other end answers.

“Nanase,” his greeting is terse but cordial.

“Go get ibuprofen,” his greeting just as terse but not at all cordial.

Sousuke scoffs at his command. “Excuse me? How about you phrase that _less_ as a demand and more of a—”

Haruka has no time to banter and snark at him so he cuts him off, “Makoto is sick and he doesn’t have any meds. I don’t want to leave him alone. So go get ibuprofen.”

There’s a short, contemplative pause before Sousuke’s deep voice streams through the speaker. “How sick?” Sousuke sounds genuinely concerned. Haruka really shouldn’t be surprised but he always is; they really are good friends.

Before Haruka can answer Sousuke’s inquiry, there’s a raspy shout from the bathroom, “H’ruuuu! Fisshies in tha tub! Hi, fishies! Yurr so purty. I’ve never sheen a purple fishy ‘fore!” There’s a brief pause and then an overly dramatic and frightful gasp, “No! Yuu can’t eat the fishies! Go away!”

His eyes drift worriedly toward the direction of Makoto’s voice and rubs his temples anxiously. “He’s got a fever. And he’s delirious. Really, _really_ delirious.”

Sousuke sucks in a disapproving breath but relents. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Make it ten,” he counters and disconnects with Yamazaki without so much of a “see you later.”

He’s back in the bathroom, standing in front of the tub as Makoto, who looks very much like an accordion with the way he’s squeezed into the compact tub, cups a handful of water in his large palms and presents it proudly to Haruka. “Look, Haru! Issa fishy! Drey’re gro—” he fumbles with his tongue for the right word, “glowing! I’m savin’ dem fr’m tha big, bad sh’rk!” Makoto curls his fingers into claws, bares his teeth, and growls weakly — either forgetting or outright ignoring the fact that sharks don’t have claws. They probably don’t growl either.

It goes without saying that there aren’t any glowing fishes or sharks in the tub. He’s not saving anything from anything. It’s just water. Damn Makoto in his delirious state. It’s half funny, half terrifying, kind of adorable, and all ridiculous.

He holds out a towel, “I see that,” he humors Makoto, “You can save them from the shark by getting out of the tub. Do you think you can do that?”

Makoto’s eyes glisten at the suggestion and nods his head enthusiastically but winces immediately, regretting the vigorous movement. Haruka quickly runs over to help him when he curls his fingers around his rim but sways unsteadily as he rises. Makoto loses his footing, his legs too weak to support his own weight and reaches out on instinct, grabbing Haruka by the arms and colliding into him. Haruka nearly topples over as well but he regains both their balance and holds him up, helping him over the tub.

He quickly pats him dry, not wanting to expose him to the cold any longer than necessary. He wraps him up in several towels, mentally cursing that he had forgotten to grab some fresh clothes for him. Haruka slowly leads Makoto back to bed, telling him not to lie down yet because he needs to get dressed but it falls on deaf ears as Makoto falls onto his side.

He exhales sharply — this really isn’t how today was supposed to go — and jerkily pulls Makoto’s limbs into some loose fitting flannel pajama bottoms. As he starts to smooth out a wrinkled shirt, he’s interrupted by the loud, heavy banging at the door, leaving Makoto half dressed. He frowns at himself. He’s soaked from head to toe from helping Makoto in and out of the bath. He quickly strips out of his clothes and swipes a pair of sweats and a well-worn T-shirt from Makoto’s drawers.

He tucks Makoto under the comforter before heading to the door, the loud, heavy knock repeating its earlier greeting. He pulls the shirt over his head, ignoring the wrinkles, and yanks open the door.

“You’re late,” he grunts, short and curt with the taller man.  

“You said ten minutes. I’m here in nine. _You’re_ the one that took his time opening the door. You’re lucky I was in the area. There’s cough syrup too.” Sousuke lifts up the tiny paper bag and Haruka snatches it out of his hands. “You’re welcome,” he grunts in annoyance.

Haruka glances up, feeling genuine appreciation for Sousuke dropping what ever he was doing to run this errand for him. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

Sousuke looks away, clearly uncomfortable by Haruka’s rare display of gratitude. He clears his throat and rocks back on his heels. “He still delirious?” he asks instead.

Haruka leans against the door frame. He’d invite Sousuke in but, well, he doesn’t really want to. “He thought there was a shark in the bath tub.”

Sousuke’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, he looks both amused and concerned. “Oh. That’s seems… fun.” He folds his arms across his chest and then blurts in frustration, “You know, I’ve told that idiot time and time again to take care of himself. But does he listen? No, of course not. He only listens to you.”

Haruka scoffs in disagreement, “You think he listens to me? I’ve lectured him on a near weekly basis so don’t even start with me, Yamazaki.”

He can practically see Sousuke’s brain processing before agreeing that, yeah, that does sound like Makoto. Makoto would try his damnest to look after himself and it usually works for a few days before his natural tendencies return and he’s back to worrying about this and that. It’s a truly infuriating cycle that even after all these years, he still hasn’t been able break.

The deep rumble of Yamazaki’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Is that Makoto’s shirt?” his curious eyes quickly dart down to the shirt in question.

Haruka tugs the hem away from his torso and frowns at said shirt, “What’s it to you?”

“I was just making an observation,” he holds his hands up in surrender.

He looks blankly at the taller man, “It’s a dumb observation to be making.”

Sousuke sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes upward, “Oh, for the love of… I was just trying to make conver—”

Haruka eyes him critically, “I should have waited for you to get Makoto out of the bath,” he cuts Sousuke off before he could finish his remark.

“Huh?” his head tilts in question.

He huffs roughly. Was he being unclear? Does he speak in riddles or something? Where exactly is the confusion? “The _bath_ ,” he reiterates. “Makoto needed one. I should have waited for you.”

“Wait,” Yamazaki’s face scrunches up as he deciphers his apparently confusing words, “You got him _into_  the bath? And _out_ of the bath? By yourself?”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Sousuke sounded mildly impressed. He should be offended. So he doesn’t have the strength of some generic main character of a long running shounen but it’s not like he’s lacking in the physical specimen department. He can probably arm wrestle a bear1. It’s not like Makoto is _that_ much bigger than him; it’s just Makoto being all loopy and boneless made things more difficult than it should have been. Yamazaki is just being rude.

He smooths out the front of his — er, Makoto’s — shirt, “Why else do you think I’m wearing his shirt? He got me all wet.”

Sousuke snickers in amusement, “Oh, there are just so many things I can say to th—” Sousuke doesn’t get to finish his thought because the door of the adjacent apartment is flung open.

“Tachib—Oh. S-sorry. Good afternoon, Nanase-san, Yamazaki-san,” Makoto’s neighbor greets timidly.

“Good afternoon, Keiko,” Sousuke smiles politely. Who knew Yamazaki was capable of being nice?

“I heard voices out here so I thought…” she trails off quietly. “Sorry,” she mumbles again in embarrassment before slamming the door shut.

“What was _that_ about?” Sousuke jerks his thumb at her door.

Haruka shrugs, “Who knows. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me.”

His voice lilts, intrigued by Haruka’s astute observation. “Oh?”

Haruka briefly glances at her shut door and folds his arms over his chest, “She’s perfectly cheery and talkative with Makoto but whenever I’m around, nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I prefer it that way but I can only assume it’s because she doesn’t like me.”

Sousuke hums, scratching under his chin, “I wouldn’t say she doesn’t like you… I think she’s just intimidated.”

He lifts a disbelieving eyebrow, “Of what?”

Sousuke arches a disbelieving eyebrow of his own, "Uh, of you?"

“That makes no sense.” He admits that he’s aloof. But that doesn’t make him some kind of Boogeyman.

“Oh, come on. She has a crush on Makoto,” Yamazaki scowls in exasperation.

He throws his hands up in the air, “Finally. Thank you. Makoto still hasn’t noticed.”

Sousuke knits his brow, “Wait, you know?"

His deadpan doesn’t leave his face but the judgemental tone is unmistakable. “It’s fairly obvious.”

His shoulders sag considerably, “So you’re not as clueless as I’ve been led to believe.”

Who’s leading him to believe that? It _has_ to be Rin. “ _You’re_ clueless,” Haruka grumbles back.

“Oh, that’s real mature,” he scoffs derisively.

Whatever. He doesn’t really feel like getting into a petty argument with Sousuke. “But that has nothing to do with me.”

With a put upon sigh, Sousuke rubs his temples, “Are you kidding me? _She’s jealous of you_.”

“What for?” He doesn’t actually have any interest in her reasons but it’s still a little annoying because sometimes, he’d catch her casting longing looks at Makoto when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“Maybe because you’re in there and she’s not. You have a key to his place. You can come and go as you please. You get to call him Makoto. You wear his shirts,” he gestures vaguely at him, “You get to nurse him back to health when he’s sick. Do you really not see why someone with a crush on him would be jealous?”

Haruka frowns stubbornly. When Yamazaki lays it out like that, he (begrudgingly) can see why someone with a crush on Makoto would be jealous. But it’s not something to get upset over. They’re just being Haruka and Makoto. “You call him Makoto too.”

Sousuke purses his lips tightly, “Really?” he shakes his head in disappointment, “ _ **That’s**_ what you take away from all that?”

“It’s stupid,” Haruka mumbles sullenly.

Sousuke sighs and adopts a tone that makes him sound like he’s explaining the water cycle to a bunch of grade schoolers. It’s not a tone he appreciates. “Calling him Makoto implies a deep sense of familiarity. The kind of familiarity she wants with him.”

He looks away, his hair swinging into his eyes. “Whatever. It still has nothing to do with me and it’s still stupid.”

Sousuke bites his tongue, seemingly giving up on arguing with him and agrees on at least one thing: “Well, she’s also 18. Eighteen-year-olds with crushes are usually stupid.”

Pushing off the doorjamb, he nods toward Makoto’s bedroom. “I should get back to him. I left him naked.”

Sousuke does a double take, “I’m sorry, you did what?”

“Well, half,” he ignore Sousuke’s presumably rhetorical question.

“What?” Sousuke’s incredulity painted on his raised brow.

“He’s under the comforter. He’ll be fine,” he defends.

“That’s not what I meant!” Sousuke shakes his head in irritation and holds out a hand, “Never mind. Just forget it. Make sure he eats something.” 

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” he scowls as he retreats back into the apartment but before he closes the door on him, he expresses his gratitude once more, “Thanks again.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sousuke rubs the back of his head, looking several magnitudes of uncomfortable. “Sure. No problem… I’m just gonna leave now. Tell Makoto to call me when he’s feeling better.”

“Sure,” he mumbles. “See you.”

Haruka returns to Makoto’s side, medicine in tow. He shifts Makoto’s body a few times, trying to get him into a shirt. Strangely, it’s only when he switches to a button down does he successfully get him into one. He collapses next to him in exhaustion. Makoto seems intent on making this as difficult as possible.

He rolls his head, taking a brief break from his care taking duties to watch Makoto. His breathing is labored and his cheeks are red and splotchy but he looks infinitely better than how he first found him. Haruka reaches out to brush his hair from his face. He’s still too warm for his liking. Frowning, he pulls his hand away. He should have been here sooner. He should have known something was amiss when messages that were usually abundant became increasingly sparse. He should have dropped by sooner.

He should have called.

A wave of annoyance surges from his gut. _Makoto_ should have called. He scowls at Makoto’s prone face and he feels the urge to express his displeasure. It’s that same urge that makes him reach out and pinch his nose.

_Idiot_. 

Makoto whines nasally, weakly thrashing his head to escape his grip. Letting go, he rolls off the bed. He turns to leave when there’s a low groan of pain. Returning to Makoto’s side, he brushes a cool hand over his forehead. It seems to calm him as he stops fidgeting. Makoto sighs, leaning into his touch. 

And then, his brain ceases to function.

With a low and guttural moan of _Haruka_  from Makoto, a jolt of electricity has him frozen in place. A white, hot heat coils in his stomach, the flames licking incessantly — dangerously — at his nerves. He has to get out of here now. The air in the room is suddenly too thick and too heavy, making it hard to breathe. Makoto needs to get a humidifier2. He scrambles out of the room, bowling over, and squeezing his knees as he greedily gulps down sweet, glorious oxygen. His face feels hot; way too hot for this kind of weather. It’s especially concerning considering the heater isn’t even turned on.

Did he catch Makoto’s fever already?

Feeling lightheaded, he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and stumbles toward the kitchen. Collecting his thoughts prove to be difficult; there’s too many conflicting thoughts swirling and it’s hard to know how or where to begin. One thought stands out though: he does need to begin. These… attacks are becoming so frequent that it’s no longer something he can avoid and claim ignorance to. Burying his head in the sand is no longer an option. But he can put it on pause for just a tiny bit longer because the second thought is Makoto needs to be nursed back to health.

He grabs for his phone, shakily jabbing at the numbers he knows by heart. Expelling another calming breath, he brings it to his ear, waiting expectantly for the cheerful greeting he knows is forthcoming. He isn’t disappointed. His heart clenches in joy and relief. “Good afternoon, Haruka-kun.”

“Good afternoon, obasan,” he greets back warmly. It has been far too long since he last heard her voice and it’s as kind and loving as he remembers.

“It’s so good to hear your voice. Oh, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you boys! Just the other day, I was at the market and there was a sale on fresh mackerel and I immediately thought of you,” she gushes in a rush.

God, fresh mackerel sounds so good right about now. “We miss you too.”

She continues on about she hopes that he’s keeping warm and that she wished that they had the time to come back to visit. He’s lulled by her soothing voice but it isn’t long before she chuckles, “Now, what’s wrong with Makoto?”

He pushes away from the counter on high alert, “What makes you think something is wrong?”

“Haruka-kun,” she says in an almost reprimanding tone yet still somehow playful, “You wouldn’t call me just to call me.”

“I… Could,” he mumbles weakly.

She hums in amusement but her convictions remain, “You could,” she agrees, “but then you wouldn’t be Haruka-kun, now would you?”

Bless this woman for being so understanding and accepting of his flaws. “Makoto’s sick,” he finally admits.

“Oh,” she pauses as if processing and then, “Oh, no. Are you with him right now?”

He nods his head even though she can’t see him and bites his lip anxiously, “Yeah.”

There’s a pitying chuckle on the other end of the line, “Oh, Haruka-kun, I am so sorry. Makoto can be a bit… clingy when he’s sick.”

He rubs the back of his neck, remembering the way Makoto nuzzled against him. “I’ve noticed.”

“And overly emotional,” she adds as an afterthought.

He sighs, “I’ve noticed that too.”

She laughs sympathetically and asks, “He isn’t causing you too much trouble is he?”

“No. Of course not.”

“No need to lie to me, Haruka-kun,” she tuts disapprovingly, “I’m his mother after all. I know his tendencies and what he’s like when he gets like this. Trust me, I’ve seen it all.”

“I just…” he worries the inside of his cheek as he searches for the right thought. “I don’t remember him ever behaving like this when we were younger.”

She barks with laughter. “That’s because his father and I bore the brunt of it. You usually only saw him when the worst of it was over — when he was no longer contagious.” Her voice lowers into a conspiratorial tone, “He didn’t want to get you sick too. Even when he was out of his mind, he still worried about you.”

He doesn’t quite know what to do with that piece of information except thank whatever deity that exists that he’s alone because even he can’t deny the flush creeping up to his cheeks. _Stupid Makoto_. These involuntary, unfamiliar behaviors are somehow his fault. He just knows it.

The last remnants of her hearty chuckles fall away, instead replaced with a seriousness that only a mother can convey. “Anyway, you’d want to make him okayu3. Do you have a recipe?”

“That’s actually what I was calling about.” His voice miraculously doesn’t shake. Twenty-one and a half years of practice really comes in handy, letting him throw up a facade of composure when he’s anything but.

He prepares the okayu as she dictates the recipe and they stay on the phone for several more minutes after that.

As he finishes up with the preparations, she suddenly blurts out, “I’m glad you’re in Tokyo.” He wipes his hands, not knowing how to respond to that. She twitters nervously and clarifies, “I mean, that isn’t to say that you shouldn’t have gone somewhere else if that was what was best for you. You would have been successful anywhere, Haruka-kun, I truly believe that. I… I’m just glad that you’ve deemed that Tokyo was best for you. I guess… I’m trying to say that I’m glad you have each other — that you have a little piece of home.” There’s a pause before she speaks again, “Also, I love my son but I don’t know how’d he’d survive without your help.”

He exhales noiselessly, “Makoto’s smart. It would have been hard but he would have been fine on his own. But… I’m glad I’m in Tokyo too.” Haruka hopes that she knows that he’s not just saying that for her benefit; that she knows he really means it.

There’s a sound of relief on her end and then a loud slam followed by excited chatter, “Oh, the twins are home. I should get them settled.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? And don’t let Makoto get you sick. It was good to hear from you, Haruka-kun.”

“I won’t.” He hear some whines from the twins, wanting to speak to their onii-chan and Haru-chan but Makoto’s mother shoos them away instead. Quick goodbyes are exchanged and with a click, they hang up.

He turns his focus back on the okayu, getting it on the stove, and leaving it on low heat. Intending to check on Makoto, he leaves the kitchen but stops short when he sees his intended leaning heavily against the wall.

“Haru,” Makoto murmurs dreamily.

In a complete reversal of roles, he finds himself mothering Makoto. “Makoto, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting.”

“It hurts,” Makoto whimpers stuffily.

“What hurts?” he asks in his gentlest voice.

Makoto rubs his chest, “Everything.”

“Everything?”

He nods solemnly, “My throat. Head. Chest. Back. Eyes.”

Well, at least he isn’t slurring anymore. “Any muscle or joint aches?”

Makoto nods with a frown, dejected. “It hurts when I move. And when I breathe.”

Haruka hums sympathetically, “Sounds like you have the flu.”

“I don’t like it,” Makoto pouts sadly, looking like the ultimate picture of misery.

_No one does_ and _you’re not supposed to like it_ , he thinks. He chooses a less snarky response instead. “I know.” Makoto sways on his feet and lurches forward, tripping over his feet. Haruka rushes to him before he face plants and lets him lean against him. “Are you hungry?” 

He shakes his head miserably, “It hurts to swallow.”

“You still need to eat. You need the energy.” Makoto moans forlornly, clearly not looking forward to the prospect but Haruka nudges him go sit on the couch. “I made you okayu.”

Makoto doesn’t move though, instead opting to keep his face buried in his neck. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Makoto had fallen back asleep, but the labored breathing gives him away.

He curls an arm around Makoto and rubs his back, trying to soothe whatever aches plague his friend. “Come on, Makoto.”

Makoto shakes his head despite his body protesting the action. “Like it here. Warm,” he murmurs drowsily. He presses his nose against Haruka’s collarbone. “You smell good, Haru-chan.”

He damn near chokes on his tongue. Makoto’s continued insistence of what can only be characterized as  _cuddling_  is making it extremely difficult to take care of him much less think straight. His current loopy state makes Haruka uncharacteristically flustered. Never in his life has he felt this dizzy and discombobulated. He forces the insistent buzzing feeling under his skin away and carefully pulls away.

“Come on,” he leads Makoto to the couch, softly easing him down and draping a fuzzy fleece blanket over him. “Just rest some more, okay?”

Haruka finally gets a break after a few fits and starts on Makoto’s behalf. But Makoto has now been fed, medicated — he had to prove that the cough syrup was in fact non-grape flavored before he agreed to down it — and back to resting. Instead of retreating to his room however, he curled up on the couch with Haruka, resting his head on his lap. He doesn’t mind — the weight was a reassuring reminder of Makoto’s presence — and the stillness of the apartment lets him catch up on his school readings.

Haruka weaves his fingers through Makoto’s fluffy hair, carding his digits through the thick strands. His hair feels quite nice slipping between his fingers. It’s oddly relaxing — therapeutic actually — acting as a sort of stress relief.

Just as he completes the chapter summary, Makoto wakes up with a coughing fit. He rubs his back, waiting for the shaking to subside. The weight resting against him disappears, leaving him cold as Makoto pops up. He sways as a wave of nausea washes over him. He looks panicked. “I’m sorry, Haru!” he profusely apologizes as quickly as his congested chest would allow. “I didn’t mean to sleep on you like that,” his down turned eyes dart away from his face.

Makoto looks more alert even though he isn’t looking directly at him. Haruka leans over to press his hand against his forehead. Makoto shrinks away, flinching at the touch but Haruka doesn’t let him pull away, assuming the reaction is due to his cold hands. Instead, he presses his hand more firmly against his charge. He’s still feverish but at least not delusional. “You’re still warm. You should rest some more.”

“I’m okay,” Makoto murmurs softly, still avoiding his eyes.

It’s possible he’s imagining it, but he swears the current redness were _not_ from the fever as the heat on Makoto’s cheeks and neck spontaneously darkens. He closes his text and hold his hand out, “Come on, it’s probably better if you’re in bed.”

“I…” Makoto fiddles with the frayed edges of the blanket, his shoulders sagging tiredly. Makoto looks up, his shy, green eyes peeking out from under his shaggy fringe, “I want to stay out here. With you,” he mumbles quietly.

He doesn’t see why Makoto is agonizing over something so trivial4. He sits back and pats his thigh gently, hoping it’s reassuring, “Then stay.”

“I shouldn’t…” the obstinate idiot continues to waffle.

“Makoto, it’s fine,” he insists firmly but gently.

“…Really?” he finally caves.

“I’ve already told you it’s fine, didn’t I?” He expertly conceals his exasperation of having to repeat himself multiple times because in his emotional state, he knows Makoto would take it the wrong way and retreat back into whatever unease he felt.

Makoto finally nods jerkily and curls back into his lap. He doesn’t look comfortable though, he holds himself rigidly, his shoulders tense and spine curved stiffly. Rubbing his back to help ease his anxiety, Haruka returns his attention to his textbook. The soothing, circular motion seems to finally relax Makoto as he sinks into the couch. Haruka goes back to lazily petting his hair and it doesn’t take very long for Makoto’s breathing to even out, sleeping soundly once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Maybe don’t try that, Haru.  
> 2Oh, Haru, I don’t think that’s the problem…  
> 3Okayu=congee. Or rice porridge  
> 4Because he likes you, you doofus! My gods man, put it together!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope to see you soon. Ish.


	9. Want to Join Me in the Bath?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He rubs his temples, dismay mounting at the prospect; he can’t possibly be getting jealous of a _cat_. 
> 
> Oh gods, he is so fucking weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: The Free! news has me so excite! Give it to me now!
> 
> Second: Sorry about the incoming wall of ramblings.
> 
> Third: You can ignore said ramblings. If you do, enjoy!
> 
> Fourth: My apologies for taking so long with this one. I’ve mentioned this before — and it still holds true — Makoto is much harder for me to write. I share a lot of the same tendencies and characteristics and behaviors as Haru. We’re both solitary creatures who don’t really give a fuck about people outside of our circle of friends. So spending a lot of time alone with your thoughts? That’s easy.
> 
> Makoto though… Makoto is a different beast altogether. On the surface, Makoto is this happy-go-lucky dork. But he’s so much more complex than the sunshine and rainbows that he’s made of (see: Eternal Summer). Don’t be fooled by the bright smiles and honey tinged voice. He’s not just a lovable puppy (although, he _is_ sunshine and rainbows and puppies), there’s a depth to him that I can’t seem to get a firm hold of. So it’s a bit of a struggle for me to portray him as canonically accurate as possible. It’s fine in short bursts but when I have whole chapters dedicated to the internal bits, that’s where I start to run into problems. 
> 
> Anyway, all of this is to say that’s why the Makoto chapters always takes me a little longer to update. I’m not always successful in getting to the crux of his Makoto-ness. In a way, he’s far more mysterious than Haru. I second guess myself a lot when I write in Makoto’s voice. But I’m gonna keep trying anyway because I love sunshine, rainbows, and puppies.

He is an idiot.

Makoto can readily admit that he’s done idiotic _things_ but he never thought himself to be an actual idiot. And yet… here he is. How else could one possibly explain his current set of circumstances? How did he ever think this was a good idea? In a world full of bad ideas, this ranks right at the top.

It’s day three in his (presumed) week-long stay and he is seriously rethinking the wisdom of bunking with the person of his amorous affections. Being in such close proximity with his… _crush_ has sent his hormones into an uncontrollable tailspin. He thinks that maybe he should have asked to stay with Sousuke instead seeing that he _**still**_ has the futon. Not that Haruka has made any real attempts to get it back from him. He’s beginning to suspect that Haruka doesn’t even want the damn thing back. That perhaps, maybe, Haruka enjoys their sleeping arrangements and has no desire to change it.

His shoulders slump despondently. Leaning against his palm, Makoto sighs longingly. It’s probably just wishful thinking. No, it was definitely wishful thinking which tracks because after all, he’s had a lot of them lately. 

So with the futon with Sousuke, it meant that he and Haruka had to continue sharing the bed and _holy shit_ , he is such an idiot. Sleep has been basically nonexistent. How could he, with Haruka slumbering a hair’s width from him? Where, if he shifts just a little bit, he’d be pressed up against him? With Haruka’s comforting heat, addictive scent, and heady presence surrounding him?

He is truly a spectacular idiot. He can’t help but feel utter disappointment in himself. He always thought himself to be better than the ball of hormones his peers exhibits and yet here he is, drowning and choking on them. It’s like he’s a prepubescent teenager popping his first awkward boner all the over again.

In the past two days alone, he has woken up with an aching erection. Half of him thanked all the gods, goddesses, and spirits that Haruka was still asleep when he awoke and other, twisted half wished Haruka would wake up to discover his morning wood. That way, he didn’t have to actually use words to tell Haruka how he feels; he’d just let the physical manifestations of his desires to do the talking.

And he’s thought about that a lot — on  _how_ to tell Haruka. Because  _not_ telling him was quickly nixed. He and Haruka made promises to each other — and themselves — not to keep secrets after that heartbreaking fiasco two summers ago. So not telling him is not an option. 

Should he just sit him down for a serious conversation? Does he profess his love with a big, elaborate, sweeping romantic gesture? Maybe he could ask him out to dinner or coffee or something equally innocuous and when Haruka ultimately asks why, he can joke that he’s asking him out on a date. Or perhaps it’ll be best if he just comes out and say it — like ripping off a band aid — the quicker, the better. 

Aside from that, his mind would often stray to other Haruka-centric musings. During the day, he’d fantasize about what a hypothetical romantic relationship with him would look like. Like going out to dinner or staying in to watch a movie under a cozy blanket. Those daydreams were relatively tame. Chaste even. To be honest, their hypothetical dates aren’t all that different from how they are now (so what does _that_ mean?). 

But at night, in his dreams, where those fantasies turn physical? Where his subconscious is no longer inhibited by social — and self — imposed proprieties? That was an entirely different story. The word obscene doesn’t even begin to cover it but that’s what they are: obscene wet dreams.

Makoto can’t even recall the last time he had a proper wet dream or what about. It was probably around the start of puberty. It’s like he never left the horny teenager stage in life (and if that didn’t make him want to crawl in a hole and cry, he doesn’t know what will). Some were less obscene than others but only slightly. He has been relentlessly inundated with various images; of the way Haruka’s fingers would grip and claw, face red and chest shuddering for breath. Of the way Haruka would coil his body over, under, and all around him. Of the way Haruka’s lips would…

He shakes the residual images from his head — the last thing he needs is to go off to fantasy-land. He just never knew that his imagination could be so active. Or creative. Granted, it’s creatively perverted, but creative nonetheless. He supposes that he just needed the perfect muse.

And Haruka really is the perfect muse. With his quiet, even voice, limber limbs, and endless blue eyes, how could he be anything but? But after every one, he’d always wake up sweaty and wracked with guilt. Every time he woke up from his increasingly provocative dreams, his first instinct was to reach for his phone; to call Haruka and apologize profusely for using his face or voice or body in his less than wholesome thoughts without his permission.

So sharing in the same bed as Haruka is a spectacularly bad idea. More than once, he had to slip out of bed and into the bathroom. To splash cold water on his face! It’s not like he sneaked away to jerk off to the thought of his best friend lying in the next room. 

Nope. No, siree, that is definitely _not_ a thing that has happened 1.

Aside from the unchecked hormones, he also can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy at their everyday life. Like whenever he wakes up, he finds that Haruka has stolen all the blankets again, his usually smooth hair turning unruly over the course of sleep. Or when he comes back from a long day of classes only to have Haruka greet him at the door or vice versa. Or when he did laundry yesterday because he’s already taken on household chores. Or when they take turns cleaning out Saba’s litter box. And when they wash the dishes together. Well, that last one isn’t so strange — they’ve been doing that for years.

The point is, it’s all very domestic and he ends up getting lost in a multitude of fantasies where he would greet Haruka home —  _their_ home — by sweeping him off his feet. With a heated kiss; all wet and sensual, with arms wrapped around each other, fingers drifting and caressing…  _damn it_ , there goes his hormones again.

The doorknob jangling breaks him out of his daydreams. Makoto scrambles out of his seat, abandoning his homework — not that he was really working on it anyway — to greet Haruka back from a full day of classes. Just because his hormones are on the fritz, doesn’t mean he should be rude. His parents raised him better than that.

“Okaeri, Haru-chan,” he smiles pleasantly. Despite all his agonizing, this has quickly become one of his favorite things to do at the end of the day.

“Tadaima,” Haruka smiles faintly as he slips out of his shoes. Especially when Haruka smiles at him like that.

Haruka bends down to greet Saba as well, petting her behind her ears and scratching her under her chin. She purrs in response, curling her body against his palm and rising up on her hind legs to lick at his chin. As quickly as Haruka has bonded with Saba, she just as quickly bonded with her new owner. Makoto pouts glumly at her constant attempts to steal his attention and seek his affections. He rubs his temples, dismay mounting at the very prospect; he can’t possibly be getting jealous of a _cat_.

Oh gods, he is so fucking weird.

“How was class?” he blurts loudly in embarrassment, afraid that Haruka would be able to read his thoughts if he didn’t shout a somewhat normal question.

Haruka starts at the unexpected volume but shrugs, “It was all right.” With one last brush along her spine, Haruka pushes back up. On his feet again, he tilts his head in a questioning manner, “Did you know that 1¼ cups of tofu has 25 grams of protein?”

Makoto blinks dumbly at him, not sure where he’s going with this line of random questioning, “That’s kind of random. But… Okay?” he furrows his brow and cocks his head in confusion.

Haruka rubs his sternum rather vigorously — up and down, up and down — in a hypnotic motion. “That’s _17_ cashews. _One-and-two-thirds_ cups of black beans. _Four_ hard-boiled eggs,” he informs him firmly.

He continues to blink confusingly at Haruka, still not understanding his sudden fascination with protein. “Haru?”

Haruka abandons his chest in favor of his shoulder, scratching just as intently as he did his chest. “Twenty-five grams of protein, Makoto. Do you know what _else_ has 25 grams of protein?” his voice flat but his eyes shine in excitement.

It is absolutely breathtaking and Makoto finds himself drifting closer and closer before he realizes what he’s doing. Makoto shakes his head cautiously, hoping that Haruka won’t be able to tell that he’s drowning in a sea of blue. “No. But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me…”

“ _ **Mackerel**_ ,” his voice quivers with excitement. “One serving of mackerel has 25 grams of protein.”

The tension coiled in his shoulders vanishes. His body suddenly feels lighter than it has in _days_. Thankfully, even after his feelings for Haruka burst through the surface, Haruka’s innate ability to make him forget all about his troubles and bring a smile to his face hasn’t diminished in the slightest. Makoto chuckles fondly, his body shaking with laughter at Haruka’s unbridled joy. “Ah,” he bobs his head civilly, “I should have seen that coming.”

Haruka moves his hand to the back of his neck, and then quickly to the front. His fingers claw at the smooth column, the pale skin turning into an angry red at the rough treatment. He levels him with a haughty look, “You can never say that mackerel isn’t nutritious.”

Makoto rolls his eyes, huffing in protest, “I have never said that!” He really hasn’t. All he has said is that he can’t subsist on _just_ mackerel. There’s a difference.

Haruka’s left foot curls behind his right leg, rubbing his calf with the intensity that rivals the heat of a thousand dying suns. “Twenty. Five grams. _One_ serving is 25 percent of my required daily protein intake.”

He frowns, his eyes closely tracking all of Haruka’s movements. _Not_ because he’s being creepy, but because he’s worried about the twitchiness. It’s not a look he’s ever seen on Haruka. Thus the worrying. “I get it, Haru. What brought all this on?”

Casually, as only Haruka could pull off, he shrugs. “You asked how my classes were.”

Makoto can feel the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement. “Is that seriously what you learned in class today?”

Haruka nods, tugging at the crotch of his jeans like he’s got ants in his pants. And possibly, other things judging from the way he contorts himself. “Pretty much.” He drops his bag off by the couch and wanders toward the kitchen.

He follows Haruka curiously. Hesitantly, he approaches the darker haired man, “Haru? Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” Haruka asks even as he pinches his torso.

“I mean,” he gestures inarticulately at Haruka, “you’ve been scratching yourself nonstop since you got home.”

“I have?” He looks down at himself and notices his fingers digging into his sides. He shrugs flippantly, “Oh. I guess I am a bit itchy now that I think about it.”

“How could you not have noticed? Oh no!” His eyes slide over worriedly at Saba, licking her paw and perched regally on the couch, as if she were the queen _and_ king and they were merely her lowly subjects. “What if Saba has fleas?!” Saba tilts her head at her name, her cat eyes blinking owlishly at him, and looking genuinely offended that he could even suggest such a horrid thing.

Haruka’s hand pauses at the refrigerator, hand curled around the handle, and appearing to give it some real thought on the theory. “Are _you_ itchy?” he finally asks.

“I…” with a furrowed brow, he seriously thinks about whether or not he’s had any unusual scratching episodes within the last day. He concludes that he hasn’t. “Well, no.”

Haruka hums, as if doubting the veracity of fleas being the problem, he confidently asserts, “It’s not fleas.”

He does a puzzled double take; Haruka barely took any time to shoot down the flea theory. “How can you be so sure?”

Haruka tilts his head, “Because Makoto is sweeter than me,” he declares with a straight face as if that were the most obvious explanation in the world.

He flushes wildly. Haruka really shouldn’t say things like that. It’ll put all kinds of ideas in his head. And he honestly doesn’t need any more of those.

Makoto chokes on a squeak but was, miraculously, able to give Haruka some semblance of a retort. “That’s mosquitoes!” he counters weakly, still off kilter due to Haruka’s statement.

Haruka gently closes the fridge, cocking his head inquisitively, “Did you shower yet?”

He hangs his head. He can’t say that he likes it whenever Haruka decides for himself that a conversation is over. It’s a habit left over from childhood. And back then, he was able to get away with it. After all, as a nine-year-old, he didn’t have a whole lot to worry about. Needless to say, things are a bit different now.

“Haruuuu,” he whines childishly.

Haruka squeezes past him, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that he’s beginning to resemble a boiled lobster from all the scratching, pinching, and rubbing. He heaves a heavy sigh, readying himself to pursue this further when the back of his collar is yanked down.

“Haru!” He yelps in surprise, blushing when he hears Haruka sniffs at him, audibly inhaling deeply. “H-Haru?”

“Makoto,” he mumbles lowly, his nose still in his collar, “when you did laundry, what detergent did you use?”

His brain scrambles for a coherent response. Haruka can’t possibly expect him to remember after putting him on the spot like this. “I- uh, well, you ran out so I went to the store to get a new one.”

“Which one?” Haruka urgently presses.

But he honestly can’t remember. He wasn’t exactly paying attention when he grabbed the first one he saw on the shelf. It was a quick, in-and-out mission at the drugstore. “I dunno. Some off brand detergent?”

“Shit,” Haruka hisses hotly. “That’s why.” He finally lets go of his collar. Makoto turns just in time to see Haruka tearing his shirt off.

“Ha-Haru! What are you-?” he grabs his hands from going any further.

Haruka shakes him off, “I’m allergic,” he calmly informs him.

“Huh?” Makoto really should pay attention because he can tell that this is important but he just can’t tear his eyes away from Haruka gracefully stripping out of the multiple layers. Even though he’s seen it a million times.

“The _detergent_ , Makoto,” he growls impatiently. “I’m allergic to the dyes and fragrances.”

Haruka’s words finally sink into his brain, past the hormone fueled thoughts. His eyes widen in alarm and remorse. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll… I’ll re-wash them! I’ll get the right deterg-  _Haru_! What are you doing?!” he screeches squeakily at the sight in front of him.

Haruka claws at his jeans, trying to rip them off. “I have to get these off.”

“B-but Haru-” he stutters helplessly when he realizes he’s powerless to stop him nor does Haruka have any intention of stopping. 

“ _Makoto._ ” Any distress he felt seconds ago is quickly discarded at his tone. It gets his full attention; he has _never_ heard such urgency in Haruka’s voice before. “I’m wearing _boxers_. Boxers that you washed yesterday.”

Two things flash through his mind at that: a) Haruka is actually wearing underwear today? Like, actual skivvies and not jammers masquerading as underwear? And b) _**OH MY GODS, NO!**_

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” Makoto blubbers profusely.

Haruka yanks at the fastenings, a near whine getting stuck in his throat, “Fuck, I’m going to scratch my dick off.” Haruka finally tears the button and zipper in his haste and woefully laments, “Of all the days I decide to wear actual underwear…”

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” he turns borderline frantic. 

“It’s okay, Makoto. You didn’t know.”

Makoto squeaks, startled as Haruka kicks the offending garments off. He’s torn between feeling absolutely horrified at the stripes of red, angry rashes adorning Haruka’s formerly pale flesh and turned on because that’s all he’s been able to think about these past couple of weeks. It’s times like these that he really curses Haruka’s complete lack of self-consciousness. But mostly, he blames himself. Fuck his brain and these god awful hormones. 

“Can you find me an antihistamine?” his question sounding more like a command than anything else. “I’m taking a shower.”

Makoto utters one last apology as Haruka rushes off to the bath.  

Buck ass naked. A big, red rash streaking over the swell of said ass. And by gods, it’s a really nice ass. Even with the rash marring it. 

He groans in dismay at his straying thoughts again, _so inappropriate_! Shuffling to the medicine cabinet in the kitchen, he covers his red face with his large hands. He gnaws at his lips as he searches for the antihistamine buried all the way in the back.

Since the… awakening of his feelings for Haruka, his hormones (and traitorous body) has decided that Haruka is attractive pretty much all of the time. Here Haruka is, uncomfortable and irritated, covered in welts and all he can do is wonder what his skin would feel like under his fingers; how Haruka would react to his touch. How the familiar curve of his face would fit in his palm. Once again, he feels the disappointment in himself welling up in his chest for the lecherous nature of his thoughts regarding his best friend. This is neither the time nor the place for his imagination to run amok. 

 _Idiot brain_.

Filling a glass with water, he pads down the hallway, taking a few extra deep breaths before knocking. “Haru? I have some Benadryl for you.” 

He waits for the quiet “come in,” before entering.

Haruka is already soaking in the tub when he enters. Makoto keeps his head down and places the glass and pills on the rim. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly.

Haruka sighs, ripping open the foil packet and popping the contents in his mouth. “Stop apologizing. You didn’t know. Now you do.” He lifts his arm up out of the water, turning it this way and that and observes, “It’s actually not that bad,” he shrugs flippantly, “I’ve had worse. It’s just a little bothersome.” He must still look down because Haruka sits up, the water sloshing over the rim, and tugs at his sleeve. “Makoto. Really, it’s okay. Stop beating yourself up about it. It’s not worth the angst.”

He hesitates, “But I…”

“Want to join me in the bath?” Haruka cuts in with bright, gleaming eyes.  

Makoto barks with laughter, “Haru!”

Haruka’s head cocks to the slide, the small twitch on his lips indicating how pleased he is with himself. “Got you to smile.”

He can’t even begin to explain how good of a person Haruka is. _Haruka_ is the one suffering, not him. He should be the one to comfort Haruka, not the other way around. Gods, what is wrong with him? Has he always needed to be coddled like this? Frustrated with himself, his hands curls into tight balls. “Haru-chan…”

He startles at the wet hand coaxing his hands to unfurl, lacing their fingers together. “Stop angsting,” Haruka repeats with a low murmur. Gently rubbing his thumb over Makoto’s knuckles, Haruka tugs him down until he’s squatting next to him. With his free hand, Haruka flicks his forehead, “You’re thinking too much.” Haruka untangles their fingers, his touch lingering, and sinks back into the tub. “And drop the -chan,” he gurgles into the water.

He rubs his forehead. That flick kind of hurt. But he also realizes that Haruka is right. It was an honest mistake. He feels bad about it but he’s apologized and Haruka’s accepted his apology. It’s not something that’s worth dwelling on. He’ll just have to be more careful next time so that he doesn’t make the same mistake. He just hates seeing Haruka in any kind of discomfort. He always has.

Huh. Maybe his feelings for Haruka go back further than he initially thought. 

He shakes his head and laughs, “Thank you, Haru. I might take you up on that offer the next time you ask.”

Oh dear gods, he momentarily panics, did he just _flirt_ with Haruka 2?

Haruka tips his head back against the rim, exposing his long, slender neck to his greedy eyes. “Oh?” Haruka lifts a teasing eyebrow, “You seem awfully sure that there’s going to be a next time. Maybe this was a once in a lifetime offer and you just missed your chance,” he murmurs airily.

Oh gods, is Haruka flirting back? Does Haruka even realize that he’s flirting? Wait, is this even considered flirting? He is woefully inexperienced in this arena so maybe it’s just… regular bro banter? Yeah, even he has to admit it’s a bit of a stretch. Besides, it definitely  _feels_ like flirting; even with the lack of experience.

Either way, he feels his cheeks flush with heat. Whether it was his stupid hormones or temporary insanity, the need to test the waters suddenly seizes him. He desperately wants to see how far he can push this flirtation with Haruka. With every tiny grain of confidence he’s able to cobble together, he lowers his eyes and, as smoothly as he can manage, teases back, “Then I guess I’ll just have to do everything I can to convince you to give me another chance.”

He watches as Haruka sucks in a harsh breath, his eyes widening almost comically. The water ripples from where his chest expands. He isn’t sure if Haruka is aware of his intentions but he half hopes he does, and half hopes he remains clueless. The last thing Haruka is, is dense but romantic pursuits is not something that’s very high on his list of priorities. He’s never seen Haruka show any interest in romantic relationships. Nor seen any inclination toward members of the same — or even the opposite — sex. Not even any inkling of a crush. So it’s very reasonable to presume that his attempts at flirtation fly over his head.

Deciding that his brain, heart, and hormones can’t take anymore, he clears his throat, “For now though, I’m going to order takeout. What do you want?”

“I can cook.” Haruka offers.

Makoto eyes the red splotches all over Haruka’s arms and chest skeptically and shakes his head adamantly, “No, Haru, you look like you’ve been rolling around in poison ivy. We’re having takeout. There’s no need to extend yourself.”

“You can cook then. I’ll supervise you,” Haruka stubbornly insists.

It’s a nice sentiment but the fact that he would even suggest that means this rash is causing him some temporary insanity. So Makoto refuses to be swayed, “I rather you be in full health when we try that.”

Exasperation briefly crosses his impassive face, “I’m not sick. Or an invalid. Just itchy.” Haruka side eyes him, “It’s not like I think there’s a shark in the tub…” he trails off snootily. 

That was some definite shade being thrown there. He desperately wants to hide as he blushes in embarrassment. It wasn’t too long ago where he was out of his god damn mind with the flu and Haruka had the unenviable role of taking care of him. His memory of it is pretty spotty and Haruka filled him in on the things he said and done (although, he gets the distinct feeling that Haruka omitted some key parts of the story) but he definitely remembers the shark thing.

Haruka promised that he wouldn’t bring that up again. “You promised you wouldn’t bring that up again!”

Haruka shrugs carelessly, “I’m not sick,” he repeats assertively. Makoto doesn’t give in though, stubbornly staring him down until Haruka rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Fine. But if we’re having takeout, I want godeungeo-gui.”

Not expecting the non-Japanese selection, Makoto asks in surprise, “Really?” It’s a pleasant surprise.

Haruka puckers his lips into a scowl, seemingly offended by the concept of him unwilling to eat any cuisine found outside of the Japanese archipelago. “It’s still mackerel.”

He snorts in amusement, “Of course, Haru.” Having been scrunched down for so long, he struggles to climb back to his feet. Shaking out the pins and needles sensation from his long legs, he shuffles to the door. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. Don’t stay in the bath too long; don’t want you getting sick, now do we?”

Makoto can tell Haruka wants to counter with the usual, ‘That’s not how you get a cold,’ but seems to think better of it. Instead, Haruka nods, “It’s icy out there.”

His heart stutters and he smiles brightly because while it sounds like Haruka is being matter of fact in regards to the weather conditions, what Haruka really means — and what he hears — is, _come back safe_. He nods, “I will,” and leaves with an extra pep in his step.

* * *

It hasn’t even been twenty minutes when he returns from the little Korean place around the corner. So imagine his surprise when Haruka is already out of the tub when he returns. Instead, Makoto finds Haruka standing in his room with a pile of clothes on the bed as he sniffs through them.

 _Naked_.

He frantically trains his eyes to _not_ stray below Haruka’s clavicle. “Ha-Haru? What are you doing?”

“I need to know what’s safe to wear and what isn’t.” Indifferently, Haruka tosses a gray and navy shirt onto a growing pile.

“But…” his mouth growing disturbingly dry. Makoto licks his lips but it doesn’t help, his mouth has stopped producing saliva. “I mean, you’re not even wearing your jammers.”

Haruka stops his sniffing and casts him a dubious, _are you insane_ look. “Jammers would make these rashes worse… rubbing up against me… it’s really uncomfortable wearing something so tight when my skin is like this,” he gestures to his naked self. 

Makoto whimpers, desperately tries to concentrate on the _content_  of the words, not allowing his eyes follow what Haruka was trying to draw attention to. “I’ll re-wash everything,” he insists. He needs to redeem himself somehow.

Haruka lifts a skeptical brow. “So, what? Should I walk around naked in the meantime?”

“O-oh! R-right,” he stutters painfully. He then remembers that his clothes are still sitting in his drawer, completely untouched and un-washed by him. He snags the comfiest pieces, “Here. These were washed by you so it should be okay.” Makoto makes sure to give him a pair of safe boxers too.

Makoto has a brief moment of panic, do friends lend underwear to their friends? Is that something that happens? Is that socially acceptable behavior? It was okay when they were kids but they are most certainly _not_ kids anymore. 

But Haruka doesn’t seem to be plagued by any of these questions as he carefully tugs on the borrowed underwear. Makoto feels his face grow so hot that he swears he’s going to faint. Borrowing and wearing his shirts is one thing but his underwear? The cotton in which his cock and balls were once nestled in is now cradling Haruka’s…

Oh, sweet merciful Zeus. How does he still have a functioning brain at this point? It’s not as snug on Haruka as it is on him, but _fuck_ , the army green cotton looks good on him. Like, _really good_. His eyes snap up.

Nope. 

 _Noooope_. 

His eyes were definitely _not_ drifting down to meet the slight bulge in his borrowed underwear. He has more self-control than that.

“I didn’t know you have an allergy like that,” his voice wavers as he frantically tries to make conversation to distract him from… well, distracting things.

“I’ve been pretty careful to avoid things like that,” he explains. “Especially since I basically bathe in chlorine.” Haruka cocks his head, a surprising note of nostalgia coloring his voice, “Once, I think we were 7, you borrowed some of my clothes. Your mom washed it and the next time I wore them, I broke out in hives. Your mom switched detergents after she found what happened. And I haven’t had a reaction in a while.”

“Huh. I keep learning new things everyday.” Also, go mom for being so considerate.

“Well, I certainly hope so. You are a university student, after all.”

He tsks in annoyance, “I meant-”

“What’s that?” Haruka nods at the bag that he deposited on the corner of the bed when he came in.

There Haruka goes again, changing the subject. This time though, it’s a rather inconsequential point so he lets it go. “The good detergent. Oh!” he exclaims as he digs through the bag, “And calamine lotion. I’m not sure if it’ll help but…” he trails off with a meek shrug. 

Haruka hums his appreciation with a small smile, “I’m sure it won’t hurt. Want to help?”

Flabbergasted by the question, Makoto stutters, “I… What?”

“I can’t reach my back,” Haruka pauses to correct himself, “Well, I _can_ but it won’t be very even. So… Help.”

“Oh. Um, right. Sure, I guess…”

Haruka sweeps the pile of clothes onto the floor, not caring where it landed, and sits in the middle of the bed, waiting expectantly. Much to his chagrin, almost all of his fantasies involve him climbing into bed with a half naked Haruka. He comes to the conclusion that having hormones is an evolutionary flaw.

Makoto shakes the bottle before squirting some of the watery solution onto a cotton pad. He swipes the pink lotion across the tops of Haruka’s shoulders, pulling away when he shivers.

“Cold?”

Haruka nods, “A bit.”

He adds more to the cotton, “Just bear with it. I’ll be done soon.”

Haruka tilts his head back and nods, “Go ahead.”

After getting his permission to continue, Makoto smothers the affected areas of Haruka’s back with the cool lotion. The silence stretches for several moments, not that he minds — there has always been a weight and meaning to their silences and they’re always comfortable — besides, it lets him concentrate on his task without his mind drifting off.

“Have you heard anything from your supervisor?” Haruka asks inquisitively, resting his head with his knees.

“I know the repairman came to take a look at it yesterday. The boiler isn’t as bad as they thought but it’s gonna take a while. He’s got a bigger than usual workload with all these storms so he won’t be able to start on it until the end of the week.” He sighs heavily, “Sorry. I must be overstaying my welcome.”

Haruka quickly dispels him of that notion. “You’re not. Don’t ever think that.” Haruka twists his head around, “Are you done?”

Makoto blinks dumbly at him, almost forgetting what he was doing. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Did you need help with anything else?”

Haruka turns around and plops down in front of him, “Don’t worry I won’t ask you to do my butt.”

How is he able to say something like that with a straight face? Laughing, Makoto shakes his head in amusement, “I didn’t say I’d mind.”

Haruka grabs the pink bottle from his hand and shakes it vigorously. With a slight arch of his brow and sparkle in his eyes, he murmurs, “Oh. So _that’s_ what you’re into 3.”

Okay, he is _definitely_ flirting that time, right? “Haru…” he narrows his eyes in warning.

Haruka mutters with a pout, “You’re the one that said it.”

A smile stretches over his face at Haruka’s reaction. He doesn’t think Haruka realizes how cute he is when he’s being all pouty. He’ll keep that to himself though. He’s known Haruka long enough to know that he wouldn’t appreciate being called cute.

“Sometimes, I can’t even with you.”

Haruka looks up with wide eyes, his blue eyes boring into him, “But only sometimes, right?” He paints over the red, raised welts across his chest and torso with pink and Makoto feels a twinge of sympathy. He wishes he could take away his pain. 

His tongue flicks out to lick at his dry lips, “Yeah. Most of the time, I can.”

Haruka slips the borrowed shirt over his head and fans himself with it, overlooking the fact that the calamine lotion needed to absorb before dressing. 

“You should just move,” he abruptly springs on him.

He scratches his head at the abrupt suggestion. “I should… What?”

“From your apartment,” Haruka clarifies. “I feel like there’s always something breaking.”

“It’s not _too_ bad," he shrugs, “Rei did the maths for me and thank the gods that I’ll able to get by on the aid and the scholarships I got.”

“Still, your building is… rickety.” Haruka isn’t one to sugarcoat things but there was a definite layer of honey slathered on that statement.

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs softly before continuing, “I’ve actually been thinking about getting a job, so maybe I’ll move when I’ve saved enough.”

Haruka frowns uncertainly, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You shouldn’t overextend yourself.”

Makoto smiles gently at the concern. “I know. That’s why I’m hoping to get one at the library or the computer lab but those are popular jobs among uni students. For obvious reasons.”

The darker haired man shrugs casually, “You’ll just turn on your charm and they’ll offer you a job right on the spot.”

Makoto shifts on the bed, feeling bashful as he flexes his fingers. “What does that mean?”

“It means that you’ll smile and talk and be self-deprecating. And they’ll love you.” Haruka shrugs indifferently. “And if anything, you can move in with me.”

Makoto freezes at the casualness of Haruka’s offer. “Wha-what?”

Haruka nonchalantly explains, “You already have clothes here. And your campus is only 20 minutes away.”

“You… I don’t think there would be enough room for me, Haru,” is the only reply he has to offer in the midst of his astonishment. Like an idiot.

“Then we’ll find a bigger place,” Haruka replies flippantly as if the topic of this entire conversation is no big deal.

Stunned by the easiness of Haruka’s words, Makoto stutters helplessly, “Haru, are… are you asking me to move in with you?”

Haruka arches a brow and tuts him for apparently not listening but he totally is! Right? Is he going crazy?

“No, I’m not asking that. I’m just saying that if push comes to shove, you’ll have a place to go,” Haruka explains patiently.

“I… I don’t know what to say, Haru.” More and more often, Haruka leaves him speechless. And breathless.

“Your mom asked me to take care of you,” Haruka shrugs, “Letting you go homeless isn’t taking care of you.”

Makoto chuckles, his heart bursting with amusement but also with warmth at the tender care Haruka shows him. It’s also how the  _their_ home fantasy he often has starts. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it but I doubt it’ll come to that. Thanks, Haru.”

With a sense of finality, Haruka nods firmly. “So if you ever want to move out of that death trap you call an apartment, you don’t have to worry about not having a place to go in the meantime.”

“Death trap?” he arches a questioning brow, “What happened to it being ‘quaint?’”

Haruka hums, the corner of his mouth quirking up playfully. “That was _before_ it tried to freeze you to death. I like having Makoto very much alive.” 

Makoto’s breath hitches with every passing declaration that falls from Haruka’s lips. Maybe he’s misinterpreting his meaning. Maybe he’s over-analyzing everything Haruka says and does. Maybe he’s foolish for wanting to find a deeper meaning to his words but he can’t bring himself to squash down that hope. Because he can’t help himself. He feels things intensely, getting wrapped up and swept away in emotions. Even some of the most insignificant and inconsequential things brings about a visceral response.

He wouldn’t have it any other way though. Haruka is the only one with the ability to make Makoto feel like Makoto with a mere look. He’s the only one with the ability to chase away his fears and demons. The only one that gives him the bravery to stand on own two his feet and chase away his own fears and demons. The only one with the ability to make him feel like he can do anything he wanted.

Haruka effortlessly slides off the bed and tugs his arm, cajoling Makoto to follow him. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

Smiling, Makoto lets himself be led out. So enamored by Haruka’s generosity and so filled with love for his best friend that he fails to notice that Haruka isn’t wearing any pants. 

Well, at least until halfway through dinner. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some unimportant, snark notes:  
> 1Methinks doth protest too much.  
> 2Oh, sweetie, haven’t you noticed by now that all you’ve ever done is flirt with him?  
> 3Ha! You’re one to talk…
> 
> I toyed with the idea of Makoto being the one with the allergy but I already made him sick literally in the last chapter so I thought I’d spare him just this once.
> 
> Makoto is like a newborn baby fawn trying to stand up and walk for the first time. Like five minutes after birth.


	10. That Actually Explains A Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He scrunches his face in dismay; the very thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I meant to get this posted way earlier but I got distracted with my mini binge of _Hunter x Hunter_. Imagine my absolute delight when I heard DIO’s voice. And then Rider’s. And then, greatest of all… MIYANO! I was very proud of myself for recognizing their voices within 2 seconds of hearing them.  
>   
>   
>  Also, I watched _Your Name._ (finally! I waited for, like, seven months!) the other day, and I am not ashamed to admit that I cried. Also, it’s a really pretty movie. Like, ridiculously pretty. So if it’s playing near you and you haven’t watched it already, I recommend that you _run_ to the theater if only for the visuals. And the soundtrack. Oh, good lord, the OST is spectacular.
> 
> Anyway, back to the story. This was the very first chapter I wrote and the story grew from here. I was basically working backwards. I tend to do that a lot. 
> 
> Get ready for some rambling Haru nonsense.

He pulls the collar of his coat up, trying to block the biting wind from smacking him in the face any more than it already has. It’s not that he particularly cares, but this winter has been absolute murder on his skin. Couple that with the near everyday submergence in chlorine, and he has been sporting chapped, flaky, crackly, dehydrated skin that looks and feels downright reptilian. No amount of lotions, moisturizers, creams, balms, or butters seem able to relieve the dry, hostile conditions playing out on the desert he calls skin. 

It has been a very itchy winter.

 _Why is it so cold? Oh, right… It’s the middle of winter and my scarf is still sitting on the bed_. 

He sighs in annoyance and curls his hands into fists, burying them deeper into his pockets. He’s without gloves today too. Where’s Makoto when you need him? Probably still in bed where it’s warm and comfortable. He’s pretty sure that by the time spring comes around, his hands will be stuck in permanent fists; especially since he keeps forgetting his gloves. Either that or his fingers and/or hands fall off from frostbite.

So much for a professional swimming career.

He pulls out his cell phone and eyes it with disdain. He hates that he needs to carry this but it can’t be helped. Tokyo isn’t Iwatobi no matter how hard he wishes it to be. You can’t run into someone you know whenever you turn a corner. People actually need to set up meetings in Tokyo. Plans need to be made. It’s troublesome and unpleasant. Although, he concedes that if he wants people to leave him alone, it is a brilliant prop to have when he pretends to be texting or reading or listening to music.

He goes into his call history instead of going through his contact list to call Makoto. He knows for a fact that the last person he spoke to on the phone was Makoto so he’d be at the top of the call list. Actually, Makoto is the only one he regularly talks to on the phone. And he’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much. 

He tugs his collar up again, silently thanking his mother for insisting on buying him a coat with a high collar because this forgetting his scarf business would be disastrous without it. He’ll need to take her out to afternoon tea to thank her properly. Or maybe get her those little petit fours green tea cakes. He makes a mental note to do _something_ ; it’s been a while since he last saw his parents. He should probably let them know that their son is still alive and well. 

The train squeals into the station and he eagerly rushes in as soon as the doors slide open; happy for the arrival of a giant tin box shielding him from the ghastly chill. He blows into his free hand, trying to warm his stiff fingers and hits the call button the same moment he sits down. As usual, it takes two rings for Makoto to pick up. He hides a small smile in his coat at Makoto’s drowsy hum of hello. 

“You’re still in bed, aren’t you?” he asks flatly, with a hint of longing in his voice. He wishes he could afford to stay in bed a little bit longer. 

Makoto clears his throat, smacking his lips drowsily, “Haru? What time is it?”

Haruka smirks at being proven right. He likes how Makoto says his name; his voice low, husky, and scratchy with sleep. He can even see Makoto running his fingers through his bed head, trying to tame it, but instead, makes it even messier. 

“Seven-twenty,” he calmly informs his best friend.

“What?!” Makoto’s voice squeaky with panic. “Oh no, not again!”

He hears a muffled thud and a strangled yelp and refrains from smiling, “You fell out of the bed again, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” Makoto mutters sourly. “I did not.”

He can practically hear Makoto pouting. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Shut up,” Makoto grumbles again but there’s no venom behind it.

“You need a new alarm clock, Makoto.” 

Makoto is most likely rushing around his cramped apartment in a panic. The phone squeezed tightly between his shoulder and ear as he pulls his drawers out in search for clean clothes but fails because it isn’t Wednesday so he hasn’t done laundry yet.

“I miss the twins,” Makoto sighs longingly, “They were always so good at waking me up.”

Haruka snorts in amusement, “You’re about to start your _third_ year at uni. You can’t possibly rely on your siblings to wake you up just so _you_ can get to class on time,” he chides.

“I know that!” He can still hear Makoto’s pout. But then, there’s a wide, bright smile shining through the line. “That’s why I have you.”

He slinks in his seat, tugging at his collar again to hide his rosy complexion (rosy from the cold, not from something else, of course). 

“I’m getting you a new alarm clock,” he mutters under his breath.

There’s a pleasant grin in Makoto’s amused voice, “If you insist.”

He hears the telltale sound of a flushing toilet and scrunches his nose, “Did you wash your hands?”

“Ew, Haru, of course I did,” Makoto sounds appropriately appalled. 

If he could, he’d glare at him. “Don’t ‘ _ew’_ me, Makoto. _You’re_ the one that’s talking me to while taking a leak.”

“I didn’t-” Makoto huffs a loud, defeated sigh, “You heard that?”

Haruka rolls his eyes, it wasn’t exactly hard to miss. “If you’re asking me if I heard the stream of your piss hitting the bowl and the toilet flushing, then the answer is yes, that is something I heard.”

“Haruuuu!” There he goes, being all appalled again. “There’s no need to be so crude.”

He averts his eyes, looking away even though Makoto isn’t physically there to chastise him. Admittedly, this probably isn’t a conversation to be having on the train with a bunch of nosy strangers flanking his sides. He changes the subject. 

“What’s for breakfast today?”

There’s an irritated huff but Makoto answers nonetheless. “Just bread. I don’t even have time to toast.”

Haruka snorts. It’s his own fault for not waking up earlier. “Well, whose fault is that?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Makoto gripes with a tired sigh. 

He glances at his bag, he knows the answer but he asks anyway. He’s considerate like that. “Do you want to meet up for lunch? I have an extra bento. I made too much.”

There’s a brief pause and a muffled _ptoo_ as Makoto spits out his toothpaste. “Is it mackerel again?”

He pauses, debating the virtues of lying. “No.”

Makoto chuckles heartily on the other end. “You’re a terrible liar, Haru-chan,” he throws back at him.

He scowls at being called out on it and scratches the tiny piece of lint sticking to his charcoal gray jeans. The _shut up_ is inferred, “Drop the -chan. So, lunch?” 

Makoto hums in agreement. “Okay. Want me to meet you at your campus?” 

He waits for Makoto to finish gurgling. “Yeah. The usual spot.”

“’K. I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

“Have a good practice!” It’s far too early to be this bubbly and cheery, especially since he just woke up, but he recognizes that it’s just Makoto being Makoto.

“I’ll see you soon, Makoto,” he murmurs lowly. 

“Bye, Haru!”

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and sighs. 

 _Four hours and twenty-five minutes until lunch_.

Not that he’s keeping track or anything. 

* * *

His hand slaps the wall as he finishes his last lap and breaks the surface. He whips his cap and goggles off, shaking off the water in his hair. He blinks in confusion and then in surprise at the familiar and calloused hand held out in front of him. 

How is it that he is still so tanned? He glances at himself but all that greets him is the pale, near porcelain flesh of his arm. Again, it’s not that he cares, but it’s still kind of unfair that he can’t even keep a _hint_ his sun-kissed tan while Makoto seems to be sporting a perma-tan. 

In the _middle of winter_.

“You looked great out there, Haru-chan.” Makoto smiles gently, head cocked to the side. 

“What are you talking about? And drop the -chan.” His hand curls into Makoto’s larger one and lets him to pull him out of the pool. He admits to himself that he has missed having Makoto helping him out after practice. “What are you doing here?”

Makoto shrugs, combing his shaggy hair out of his face with his fingers when they fall into his eyes. _He needs a haircut,_ Harukaobserves to himself.

“Class let out early so I thought I’d come see you practice.” Makoto rubs the back of his head bashfully, “I’m glad I did. I’ve missed watching you swim.”

“There are ways to fix that, you know,” he looks at him pointedly. He takes the offered towel and rubs his head as they head toward the locker room.

Makoto chuckles sheepishly, “I know. Next time I go to the pool, I’ll ask you to come with me instead of Sousuke.”

Haruka nods, satisfied with the promise. He then eyes Makoto suspiciously, “This is a _private_ practice. Only student athletes that attend this school is allowed in here.”  _How do_ _you_ _always get in here_?

Makoto grins and whispers conspiratorially, “Asami-san is really nice.”

Asami-san manages the facilities and spends most of her time chasing away unauthorized persons trying to sneak in. Except when that unauthorized person happens to be Makoto.

Apparently.

“It’s because you flirt with her,” he grumbles sourly.

Makoto is taken aback, “I do not!”

The changing room is empty except for the two of them, their voices echoing off the neat rows of metal lockers. “You do too,” he argues back. “You smile at her _all_ the time.”

Flabbergasted, Makoto drops onto the bench, scoffing incredulously, and defends himself, “I smile at everyone!”

Haruka peels off his jammers and hops under the shower to quickly rinse off but pauses in the middle to stare at Makoto knowingly. “Exactly.”  

Makoto’s face flushes into a deep red, head turned away, and cheeks puffed up in a pout. “Since when is smiling flirting?”

Exiting the stall, Haruka leisurely dries himself. “Since you smile like Makoto,” he retorts.

Makoto’s pout grows even more petulant, but the pout quickly turns into a bright and infectious grin. “Then I must have been flirting with you our entire lives,” he teases.

He sucks in a sharp breath and flings the wet towel at Makoto’s face, which he easily catches, “Shut up.”

Makoto chuckles and tosses the used towel in his laundry bag. Noticeably, he avoids Haruka’s eyes. Or more accurately, avoids looking in Haruka’s general direction. “Hurry up and get dressed. I’m getting hungry.”

Haruka pulls on his sweats, not bothering with undergarments, and shoves the bag into his duffle. He slings it over his shoulder, and closes his locker. “Let’s go.”

They make it to the entrance but just before they step out, Makoto stops him. “Haru! You’re not wearing a scarf! And you don’t have gloves!” With his hands on his hips, Makoto taps his foot impatiently, “Did you leave them at home again?”

“It’s fine, Makoto.” 

 _A lie_.

“It’s not fine! It’s the middle of winter! It’s cold!” Makoto raises his voice in concern.

“You’re making a fuss out of nothing. I’m not cold.” 

_A big fat lie._

“It’s not nothing!” Makoto unravels his own scarf and, like he’s done so many times before, wraps him up into a puffy bundle.

Haruka pulls down the scarf so he could speak, “We’re not going far, Makoto.” 

But Makoto draws it back over his mouth. “Far enough. The last thing you need is to get sick.”

Makoto takes his hand into larger one, pulling a glove off his hand and slipping it onto his. Makoto takes their ungloved hands and stuffs them into his jacket pocket, tugging him along him as they brace for the biting cold. This way is _definitely_ better than wearing his own gloves. He tries not to think about how well their hands fit together; how natural it is to have Makoto’s warm hand in his. 

They end up at the cafeteria, away from the whistling and swirling winds. They still huddle close together until they warm up, blowing into their hands. He digs into his bag when the feeling and circulation return to his fingers.

“Hey, there’s vegetables in this, Haru,” Makoto’s eyes light up in happy surprise.

“Of course there is. I promised your mom that I’d take care of you, remember? That’s mom-speak for eating your vegetables,” Haruka mumbles. 

Makoto’s brows twist in amusement before shaking it off. “Are there vegetables in yours?”

“I’m a student athlete,” he casts Makoto a dubious look, “Diet, remember?”

Makoto nods and then abruptly turns to him, eyes sparkling and smile gleaming, “Oh! Guess what? I got it!”

He nods. Despite all of Makoto’s worries, he knew he would. He isn’t quite sure if he likes it though. School stretches him thin enough already. A job will not help on that front. Also, he can’t help but feel that a job will cut into his already limited Makoto-time. 

Still, he’s glad that Makoto was successful in what he set out to do. “I told you. Library or computer lab?”

“Computer lab.” Makoto chuckles quietly.

He watches Makoto out of his peripheral, “Did you smile?”

“Haru! Don’t tease me!” Makoto pouts. “I’ll have you know, the previous girl quit. And my application happened to be at the top of the pile so they interviewed me the other day and today, they offered it to me.” Makoto folds his arms over his chest — his face stern as he glares at him; not that it intimidates him in any way whatsoever.

Leaning against his palm, he looks at Makoto with interest. “So you didn’t flirt.”

“Well, I mean, I _smiled_ , of course,” Makoto explains evenly, “Because it’s the polite thing to do.”

“Ah-ha,” he jabs the end of his chopsticks at Makoto’s bicep, “So you admit that you smiling _is_ flirting.”

“I didn’t say that, Haru! Don’t twist my words!” Makoto whines childishly.

“You’re the one that said it,” he grumbles lowly.

“Mm,” he grumbles, and then with far too much enthusiasm, reminds him “We have a Skype call with Rin tonight.”

Haruka waits for Makoto to finish his sip of water before continuing, “Do we have to?”

“Haru,” Makoto admonishes flatly.

Crankily, he exhales quietly, “He always gets so… shout-y.” He fails to find the appropriate word to describe Rin’s grandiose behavior. 

“He’s excitable,” Makoto explains with a blasé shrug.

Haruka scoffs at the description. “You make him sound like a puppy.”

“Haru!” Makoto shakes his head, balking at the comparison but grins as he continues, “And yes we do. We made plans for it and it would be rude to skip out.”

Haruka huffs and looks away. He knows that. He doesn’t need Makoto to say those things out loud. “My place or yours?”

Makoto makes the show of thinking about it but he already knows the answer. “Yours. Your place is bigger, Mr. I’m-on-an-athletic-scholarship-so-I-can-afford-an-apartment-with-a-giant-tub.”

He rolls his eyes at the unnecessary additions to his name. Granted, his apartment is larger than your average university student (especially considering it’s Tokyo) but it’s hardly his fault that his university of choice was more than willing to shell out for it as part of their recruitment of Tottori Prefecture’s most prized swimmer. Even if he did imply (read: bluff) that it may or may not be a deal breaker. Makoto called him manipulative (which is rich coming from the most manipulative person he knows), but it’s just being smart. Makoto was quickly corrected by Makoto’s mother, “Haruka-kun is just being shrewd. It’s a good quality to have — _especially_ if you’re going to Tokyo.”

“Besides, it’s Monday,” Makoto adds with a obnoxiously bright smile so intense that he has to look away, “We’re supposed to have dinner, remember?”

Like he can forget. He’s the one that suggested this arrangement. He doesn’t regret it but the frequency in the Skype calls with Rin has also increased along with it. Which is troublesome. 

Makoto curses when he notices the time. It’s already two. University life has turned his friend into a potty mouth and he isn’t sure who to yell at for it. How dare Tokyo corrupt his gentle friend with such profanity. 

“I still have a 2:30 class. I’m going to be late again!” He shovels the rest of the bento into his mouth, wipes his lips with a napkin, and gathers his things.

Haruka stands and begins to pull the scarf that’s resting comfortably and warmly around his neck, “You’ll need this back.”

But Makoto shakes his head, “Keep it. I’ll get it back later.” He yanks on his thick winter coat, grabs his bag, and brushes a quick kiss at his temple. “See you tonight!” He waves happily before bounding out into the winter air.

Haruka drops into the hard plastic seat, touching his temple in confusion. The very temple that Makoto kissed in his haste to leave. His eyes wildly scan his surroundings, as if it would provide him with an answer to a question he didn’t even know to ask.

 _Huh. Well, that’s new_. 

* * *

His limbs have been on autopilot since lunch, stuck in a perpetual daze. He went to his nutrition class and then ran his laps with his teammates. He then went to the tiny market down the block from his apartment, and started on dinner for two like he’s been doing every Monday for the last month and a half. 

Except today, he’s been rendered completely and utterly inept due to that unexpected kiss from Makoto. His nutrition notes were illegible and incoherent to the point of uselessness. And while he has never been a fast runner, he was even slower than usual today. Finally, he burned soup.

It bears repeating: **he burned soup**.

What was that? 

He drops his head against the dining table in frustration. What’s the big deal anyway? He’s seen Makoto kiss his siblings and mother good-bye like that all time.

Is that what that was?

He scrunches his face in dismay; the very thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He has never seen or treated Makoto like a brother and he’s fairly certain Makoto doesn’t either.

Why can’t he stop dwelling over this? Why has this knocked him so off balance?

He sits back up, throwing his head back in annoyance. Staring at the ceiling, he rubs at his scalp, the low groan almost sounding like a whine. He growls, feeling maximum levels of frustration beginning to boil over. He’s acting like a lovesick teenager which is incomprehensible because —  _oh_.

“ _Oh_.” His shoulders relax and he sinks into his seat; relief flooding his system.

Huh. That actually explains a lot.

Okay, he’s put this off long enough. The steady trickle of thoughts he’s had sporadically for the last few months have burst through the dam and there’s no slowing it down now that the flow has broken free. He really can’t ignore this anymore. Now, he needs to seriously dive in and get to the bottom of this.

They’ve had their ups and downs these last few years — really ever since Nagisa and Rin came crashing back into their lives like an angry tsunami. There’s been a lot of joy with equal amounts of worry and hand-wringing. Objectively, not much has changed. At the core, they’re still Haruka and Makoto. They still occasionally wind up at each other’s respective residences to study; even though they take wildly different courses. It isn’t uncommon for them to wake up in a tangled mess of warm limbs the morning after those study sessions. It’s just no longer a regular occurrence.

They still have this uncanny ability to know what the other is thinking with a mere glance. And they still have no sense of personal space. It’s that exact lack of personal space in particular that has been steadily changing. It feels… different —  _strange —_ yet achingly familiar. The indisputable fact is that the dynamics of their relationship has been shifting. 

It started with little things; the brushes of fingers becoming more frequent and their shoulders bump against each other more often than usual. Or the way hands would hold on a little longer than was strictly necessary when Makoto pulls him out of the bath. And escalating to bigger things — like when those gentle brushes of fingers become lingering touches. And the pining gazes when they think the other isn’t looking. Or the gentle smiles (on his part) that are given more readily. Or the random bursts of blushes at something seemingly innocuous or the way his stomach twists and lurches when Makoto worries or dotes over him.

Everyday, he’s reminded that they’re not in Iwatobi. They don’t get to see each other as often as they did back home — different universities, different living arrangements, different commutes. He resents the distance Tokyo has erected between them. It was difficult, but for much of the nearly two years they’ve been in Tokyo, they made a concerted effort to meet up as often as possible. Every free moment was spent with the other. So when they _did_ see each other, there was a  _want_ there — a wanthe wasn’t actively aware of until mere moments ago — and a  _need_ for the accidental touches and inadvertent bumping. 

 _Something_ is happening.

 _Something_ that’s been happening for a while now.

 _Something_  that makes his stomach twist and curl.

He identifies the twisty, curly, and flippy feeling as  _anticipation_. But it isn’t like the anticipation that comes before a big race. No, this type of anticipation is far more potent. 

It’s overwhelming.

Exciting.

Heady.

 _Addicting_.

He doesn’t  _dis_ like it. It’s just… baffling. As in, why  _now_? What is it about _now_ that’s turning everything upside down and sideways?

He remembers this morning and how he had scurried out of the apartment glove-less and scarf-less. He’s never had to worry about such trifles in Iwatobi because Makoto had always: a) provided more than enough warmth for him, b) made sure to grab an extra scarf and gloves because he knows he wouldn’t wear them otherwise, or c) Makoto would literally give him the clothes off his back.

Such gestures serves to drive home the point that he really missed Makoto. He remembers the stray _I miss Makoto_ thought that flittered through when he pulled at his collar and blew into his hands. He remembers all the times that same unbridled thought crossed his mind during this past year: after practice when there’s no Makoto to pull him out.

Whenever he sees a stray cat asking to be petted.

When he walks home from class but there’s no ocean or Makoto on either side of him.

When he goes home and is greeted by the green-eyed Saba that reminds him so much of his friend sitting patiently for him at the genkan. 

When he’s finished with his homework and he’s bored out of his mind but can’t simply walk down the stairs to see Makoto.

When he buys a double ice pop (out of habit) but Makoto isn’t there to share it with and he ends up eating both but has to throw it away halfway through the second one because he can’t possibly finish the entire thing!

Makoto. His _best friend_. He wonders if he’s going through the same thing. If maybe _that’s_  the reason he kissed him without thinking. He frowns at himself because, wow, that’s awfully presumptuous of him to think Makoto has feelings for him too, isn’t it? Despite outward appearances, Makoto’s life doesn’t revolve around him.

But… Something _is_ happening and Makoto is at the center of it all. Makoto has to be aware of whatever this…  _something_ is too. Right? Because all those purposeful touches, private smiles, and longing looks _mean_ something. He doesn’t presume to know exactly what goes on inside his best friend’s head but, he knows Makoto well enough to know that he has to be cognizant of this shift too. It’s preposterous to think otherwise.

He wonders what he’s supposed to do now that he knows. How is he supposed to proceed? What exactly is the next course of action? What exactly do people do in these situations? And what does this all mean for him? For Makoto? For… _them_?

He has spent, quite literally, his whole life with Makoto. And he’s fully aware of how lucky he is to have Makoto in his life. That was made painfully clear two summers ago when they had fought over his future, or lack there of. When he said unnecessarily cruel things in frustration, anger, and sadness. Things that he didn’t even mean. 

And when he panicked and thought he caused irrevocable damage to their relationship and ruined their friendship, in true Makoto fashion, he welcomed him home with open arms and a brilliantly stunning smile. Makoto has _always_ been there for him; caring for him, worrying about him. He has always been so understanding, comforting, and so wonderfully supportive. So yes, he knows exactly how lucky he is that Makoto has stuck by him through it all.

He totally understands why he feels the way he does about Makoto because when you have someone like that in your life, you’d be insane not to cherish it. So he surrenders to the torrential waves that encapsulates his feelings for Makoto. But now that he’s aware that his feelings for his best friend extends beyond friendship, that there’s a…  _romantic_  component as well, he’s left wondering about Makoto. 

Is he even interested in romantic relationships? ( _Probably_.) Much less a romantic relationship with another man? ( _It’s not impossible_.) If he knows Makoto as well as he thinks he does, then Makoto isn’t the type to care. You like who you like. It’s more about the person than what privates bits they possess. Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure Makoto has been shamelessly flirting with him. 

But he and Makoto never talked about this romance, relationship-y stuff so he can’t be 100 percent sure. Why hadn’t they ever talked about this stuff? Decades of friendship and not _once_ had the topic ever come up? It’s outrageously laughable. Aren’t friends supposed to talk about this shit? Granted, he never would’ve brought it up himself considering he’s never felt attraction to anyone in the first 20-plus years of his life. 

Perhaps the reason he never felt that way about anyone before is because he’s always had feelings for Makoto, albeit, subconsciously.

He scoffs, shaking his head. _No, that’s stupid._ His life isn’t a two-and-a-half star movie nor is he a sap like Rin. While he has always cared for Makoto, the idea of him being in love with his best friend since they were kids is way too sappy and flowery for his liking. He was just never all that interested in romance. It’s not that he’s  _never_ thought about it — in brief, _**brief**_ passing and always as a mere curiosity — but as soon as the thought enters, it’s already gone. The way people primp and preen to impress the object of their affections is way too troublesome for him to even _think about_ much less endeavor in.

Until now, apparently.

Their bond has always been a little deeper than most. He isn’t that oblivious as to miss how their closeness could be misconstrued as something else. Especially here, in Tokyo, where people aren’t familiar with the dynamics of a Haruka-Makoto friendship. 

He’s now keenly aware of Makoto’s presence and the things he makes him feel. He doesn’t particularly like the vulnerability that comes with it but since it’s Makoto, he finds that he doesn’t mind it. 

Much.

It’s Makoto. It has _always_ been Makoto.

When did his platonic feelings for Makoto become… not-so-platonic? He’s always known who Makoto is but with this new revelation, it’s like he’s stepping back to finally _see_ him. It’s as if someone flicked on the light switch to illuminate the entire room. He realizes that there wasn’t one specific moment in which he fell for his best friend. It’s not as if he just suddenly, out of nowhere fell in love with Makoto; he has _always_ loved him. But in the same way that they, as individuals, have changed and grown throughout the years, the fluidity of that platonic love has also grown into something deeper. And now, it’s burrowed and embedded itself permanently in his heart, leaving an indelible mark.

He accepts his feelings and love for Makoto strikingly easy. He doesn’t fight it or rail against it because there’s nothing to object to. Everyone should be so lucky to have a Makoto to love. 

He hears the increasingly loud thrum of blood rushing behind his ear at the very thought, can feel the throbbing of his heart tattooing against his chest.

Shit. Love? He just literally admitted to himself that he has feelings for Makoto, but _love_? He lets the word roll around in his head, trying to wrap his brain around it, trying to get used to it, but all it does is make his skin itchy. 

Love is supposed to be a big deal, right? It’s supposed to take time and patience. There are steps between the realization of feelings and being in love, right? But he’s skipped all the steps and went straight for love.

This is all Makoto’s fault. It has to be. There’s no other explanation. It’s his fault for being so good and so kind and so generous and so loving and so lovable and so…  _Makoto_.

Instead of the great big anvil dropping on him like the was expecting, the great big anvil was actually lifted. He could breathe again. Think again. _Be_ again. It was freeing. _Empowering_. It’s funny how once you’re aware of it, your whole world turns upside down.

He shakes his head, he’s getting _way_ too ahead of himself. His brain is currently a host of contradictions. His thoughts are still a jumbled and disorganized mess but at least he knows _why_. At least he’s aware of the reason for _why_ his heart drums against his ribs whenever Makoto smiles at him.

And  _why_ his flesh burns whenever Makoto brushes up against him.

And _why_ he’s so comforted whenever he catches the faint scent of peppermint — even if Makoto is no where around.

And _why_ his breath catches whenever Makoto laughs, unbridled and carefree.

And _why_ his stomach flutters whenever Makoto says his name — whether in adoration, surprise, exasperation, comfort, or even anger.

He needs to slow down. Breath and process. And oh, boy, does he need to process.

* * *

So why does he find himself standing in front of Rei’s building after three days worth of insomnia? What is he doing? This is stupid. He turns to leave but sees Rei approaching cautiously.

Rei’s shoulders visibly relax. “I thought that was you, Haruka-senpai. Is something the matter?”

“I wanted to talk to you abo…” He trails off because, seriously, what he is doing?

Rei waves his ID card at the reader and there’s a loud click as the door unlocks. He holds the door open, “How about we discuss whatever it is you want away from the cold?”

He nods in agreement because that’s a better plan than his.

Rei opens the door to his apartment and unloads his bag onto his desk with a _thunk_. He waves his hand toward a chair and he absentmindedly accepts. Haruka has only been here a handful of times and it’s been a while since he was last here. That penguin clock hanging above the television is new. He assumes it’s a gift from Nagisa. 

“Now, what can I help you with, Haruka-senpai?” Rei asks patiently, his hands clasped in his lap. 

He clenches his fingers anxiously. How does he start? Why is he here? Looking for advice? Looking for reassurance? Just wanting to vent his feelings? 

He stands up, feeling restless, and begins to pace. “So, I think I — no, I _know_ I…” he freezes. 

 _Oh no. This isn’t right._  

What is he doing? Is he seriously contemplating telling _Rei_ about his feelings for _Makoto_? That… That’s outrageous and unfair. Everything about this poorly conceived plan is just  _ **wrong**_. Wrong, wrong, wrong. This concerns Makoto and Makoto alone. He  _deserves_  to know — to be the  _first_ one to know. And he needs to be the one to tell him.

“I have to go,” he abruptly declares, knocking Rei off-balance.

“Haruka-senpai?” Rei’s eyes widen in surprise behind his glasses. 

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” he reassures the concerned Rei. “I just have to go. I figured it out.” He hasn’t figured out shit and Rei doesn’t look convinced either. “Sort of,” he amends. He grabs his duffle and turns to the door, “I’ll see you later, Rei.”

“But…” 

“I’ll explain later.” He probably won’t but it’s a polite gesture, right?

“If you’re sure,” Rei still looks at him skeptically, but after years of friendship, even he knows not to push Haruka for more. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No need. I know the way.” He knows Rei wants to say more but he’s already dashing out of the room.

He _needs_ to see Makoto. He needs to tell him but that leaves him back at square one. How does he start? He tries calling Makoto but after two rings, there’s no answer. He growls angrily at the phone and texts him instead, asking him to come over a little earlier than usual for dinner but when he doesn’t get an immediate response, he snarls.

This would never happen in Iwatobi. In Iwatobi, there were only a handful of places Makoto would be, making it easy to find him. It was especially easy because the Tachibanas lived literally down a flight of stairs. He didn’t even need to change out of his pajamas if he didn’t want to.

But they’re in _Tokyo_ and fuck Tokyo because Tokyo means that Makoto can be virtually anywhere. In class or at the computer lab or the library or a coffee shop or at a classmate’s or on the train or at home. There’s just too many options.

His phone finally chimes and he eagerly unlocks his phone to get to the message. His excitement quickly dies into a scowl when he reads the message.

 _Sorry, Haru! Got a group project due and way behind on it! Group mates gonna meet at my apartment._   _Won’t be able to make it to dinner tonight! :( I’m really, really sorry!_

Another message quickly follows: _Promise to make it up to you though! :)_

His fingers curl tightly around the phone, tempted to punt the damn thing. He hasn’t seen hide nor hair of Makoto since the day of  _that_ encounter — they pointedly ignored/pretended it didn’t happen that night during dinner — but now that he understands, he readily admits that he misses him. 

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. Who knew all it took was _three measly days_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, Haru, you are a mess. He has been circling around the same thing for _weeks_ now. But hey, at least he finally made it. And so did you! Everyone gets a gold star!
> 
> I thought about making a separate chapter with that scene with Rei but there just wasn’t enough content. Or, more accurately, I was too lazy to think of additional content.


	11. Do You Need to Get Laid or Something?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a quick smile, he pulls off his scarf and begins to wrap Haruka up until only the blues of his eyes were visible. He doesn’t need it; they’re about to head inside. Besides, Haruka’s presence sends a flood of warmth to his insides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long for me to post. Everyday, I said, “I’ll update today,” and everyday, I fail to do so. Because I got all kinds of distracted. 
> 
> But! At long last, here it is.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s another frigid day in Tokyo, with the snow gently falling and lightly adhering to the asphalt. The air is chilly, and although it was also surprisingly crisp, it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable when exposed to it for more than ten minutes. They huddle around the patio heaters scattered in front of the restaurant for whatever meager warmth they provide. He hikes up his backpack over his shoulders a little higher, using it as a shield against the whistling wind. Pulling the hood over his head, he snuggles deeper into his parka. He really hopes that Haruka and Rei get here soon. Preferably _before_ his nose freezes off his face.

“Is it ever going to stop snowing?” Sousuke grumbles lowly to his left.

Makoto sighs and, as if in a trance, he watches the white puff of breath dissipate into the ether. “At least it’s not that bad today.” The previous day saw several centimeters of the white fluff caked on to, well, _everything_ , causing major havoc to the train schedules. “Still cold as fuck though,” he shivers for effect.

Sousuke straightens up, craning his neck to search for either one of their missing friends. “Where the hell are they? You’d think with their tendencies, they would be more punctual.”

“They are.” He backtracks quickly as Haruka does sometimes lose track of time when he’s doing something he enjoys. “Well, Rei is. We’re just really early.” 

Sousuke clicks his tongue, shuffling closer to the heater, “That’s no excuse. They should be early too.”

The cold air nips at his already dry, chapped skin so he hitches his scarf higher to cover his nose, and mutters, “It’s fine. We’ll wait a little longer.”

Sighing, Sousuke grumbles irritably, “Why are we doing this anyway? It’s so cold. Couldn’t we hang out at Nanase’s instead? He has enough space for all of us.”

“It’s been a while since we were able to all get together.” Besides, making Rei trek all the way to Haruka’s seems a little cruel. “This is the halfway point between Haru’s and Rei’s.”

“Why are they the only ones being considered?” Sousuke huffs in indignation, “What about _me_?”

Makoto glances at him, his complaints are becoming a bit nonsensical. “You live four stops from Rei. I think you were considered plenty.”

“Can’t we wait inside?” the taller man whines pitifully.

He looks at the taller man with bored disinterest, it’s like he isn’t even paying attention. “Where exactly would we wait, Sousuke? There isn’t exactly any standing room,” he jerks his thumb at the little ramen shop. 

He instantly regrets pulling his hand out of his pockets, blowing into his bare hand for a tiny bit of warmth. Earlier that afternoon, he lost his gloves. They must have fallen out of his pockets when he was leaving campus and now, his fingers are stiff and creaky. 

This winter season has taken ten years off his life.

“You’d think a place that can afford _these_ things,” Sousuke gestures at the patio heaters, “would have enough space for paying customers to stand _inside_.”

He exhales slowly. Sousuke’s whining is becoming increasingly unbearable. Okay, that’s unfair. It’s not Sousuke’s fault he’s so crabby. He’s finding that lately, his patience is easily snapped and his temper short. The combined stress of classes and the weight of his romantic feelings has taken its toll on him and making him curt and terse with everyone not named Nanase Haruka.

“Stop complaining.” 

But Sousuke is completely unfazed with his grouchiness. “I’ll complain if I want to. It’s fucking freezing and I think my balls and dick are trying to crawl back into my body.”

He snorts. In the last couple of years, he’s discovered that Sousuke has an interesting way with words. “Oh, shut up. It is not.”

Stepping closer to him, Sousuke nudges him with an elbow, nods at his crotch, and challenges, “You wanna check?”

Makoto shoots him an unimpressed glare over his scarf, “If you wanna whip out your dick in sub 10-degree weather, be my guest. Just don’t come crying to me if they need to amputate it because you’re an idiot.”

Sousuke tsks, unconsciously shielding his crotch in a protective manner, and looks away. “Don’t be rude. This is a serious situation. What if it permanently gets stuck like that?”

He sighs. He also discovered that Sousuke has a tendency to over-exaggerate. “I never knew you could be such a baby, Sousuke.”

“You know, you’re being awfully snappy right now. Not to mention mean and snarky.” Ruffling a gloved hand over his short, cropped hair, Sousuke sweeps off the bits of snow clinging to the thick, dark strands.

He should feel bad and normally, he would, but he can’t seem to work up the energy to care that he’s being rude. His energies are concentrated elsewhere. “Shut up. I’m cold too but you don’t see me whining all the bloody time about it.”

“You’ve told me to shut up twice in the last…” he checks his watch, “ten minutes. What’s the matter?” Sousuke grins, chuckling to himself because he thinks he’s funny or something. “Do you need to get laid or something?” There’s a long stretch of awkward, pointed silence with Makoto actively avoiding Sousuke’s teal eyes. His jaw drops in shock. “ _Oh my god_ , you do!”

Looking away, he tries to avoid the laughing and prying eyes. “Shut up!”

Sousuke laughs, outright _giggles_  — the jackass — and taunts, “I know at least one person that will gladly volunteer to help you,” he grins widely like he’s the freaking Cheshire Cat.

“What? Who?” 

_Please say Haru, please say Haru, please say Haru._

Is it pathetic that his brain immediately goes to Haruka? While he considers himself to be an eternal optimist, the worrywart in him can sometimes supersede other parts of his personality. He looks for the hope that someone, anyone, would reaffirm that he’s not deluded for wanting to be with Haruka. That someone else can envision them being together too. That perhaps Haruka having romantic notions for him isn’t as far-fetched as he thinks. And then maybe he can work up the nerve to tell Haruka.

Sousuke smirks, all grinning teeth and sparkling eyes. “Your neighbor.”

His brain freezes, as if a bucket of ice water got dumped on him. “…Mr. Saito?” he asks confusingly, “I don’t think he’s into guys. Also, he’s kinda old.” After all, Mr. Saito is nearly his parents’ age. 

Sousuke blinks in bemusement at him, “Mr. Sai- What? No, you idiot. Your _other_ neighbor, Keiko! You twit.”

Even more confusion washes over him. Sousuke cannot be serious. Keiko? As in the baby faced Keiko who lives with her older sister and still wears her hair in pigtails? The same Keiko that reminds him so much of his own sister? That Keiko? “Are you out of your damn mind?  _Keiko_?”

Sousuke throws him some serious side-eye, “Duh. She has the biggest crush on you.”

The mere idea is preposterous. There’s no way Keiko is crushing on him. Sousuke has to be mistaken. “She does not,” he insists stubbornly.

With a look of incredulity aimed at him, Sousuke shakes his head in complete disbelief. “Are you seriously telling me that you _still_  haven’t noticed? Wow, you are thick. Rin was completely wrong, _you’re_ the clueless one.”

What does Rin have to do with this? “Shut up. _You’re_ clueless.”

Sousuke wheezes in laughter, “Oh my god, that’s fucking gold. The two of you are something else,” he roars with glee. Makoto frowns. Who exactly is the ‘two of you’ that he’s referring to? “It’s not just me, Makoto,” he continues, “Haru sees it too.”

Horrified that **_Sousuke_** , of all people, has spoken to Haruka about romance adjacent things, he squeaks, “You’re talking to _Haru_ about this?”

“It came up in passing,” he waves his hand dismissively.

But he can’t dismiss it because even  _he_ hasn’t spoken to Haruka about this stuff! “Why are you talking to Haru about this?!”

“Forget about that,” Sousuke effortlessly dodges again. “Let’s go back to you being sexually frustrated.”

He frowns deeply at Sousuke, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “How about we don’t and just say we did? And how about you answer my questions?”

Sousuke throws his head back, groaning in exasperation. “It was literally  _one_ time. It’s not like we’re in the habit of calling each other in the middle of the night and gabbing like prepubescent teenagers. It’s not a big deal.” Rocking back on his heels, Sousuke grins, “Now, come on. Don’t be shy. Tell me what’s up.”

Makoto scowls at the evasiveness and the nosiness. “Why are you so interested? Don’t you have your own sex life to worry about?”

“Oh,” he rubs the back of his head sheepishly, “Uh… yeah, not so much these days.”

Oh. That’s certainly news to him. Sousuke has a lion’s share of suitors. Both men and women alike. While he’s very discerning about _who_ he shares his bed with, he does lead a rather active sex life. With both men and women alike. He’s never actually outright said it, but he never hid his bisexuality either. Sousuke is surprisingly open with his experiences. 

“Really?”

Sousuke shrugs casually, “I might be going through a bit of a dry spell…”

With a healthy dose of skepticism, he glances at Sousuke wearily, “A ‘dry spell?’ You have no shortage of admirers.”

Sousuke’s brows furrow and lips pucker, “You have a few yourself,” he points out defensively. “I’ve had front row seats to them.”

Makoto snorts in amusement. It’s true that he’s gotten his own fair share of… propositions since starting university. Mostly from women but there has been a smattering of men here and there. “Yeah… but I never say ‘yes’ to any of them.” 

While he can admit that he found his handful of hopeful lovers to be physically attractive, he didn’t really feel the desire to see them naked. Which is the whole reason they propositioned him in the first place so his lack of interest defeats the purpose. That isn’t to say he doesn’t feel sexual attraction at all — the overabundance of Haruka-centric fantasies are a testament to that — he just doesn’t feel comfortable engaging in such intimacies without the _emotional_ intimacy attached as well. 

And nowadays, his emotional intimacy — even more so than usual — is reserved strictly for Haruka. So those hopefuls really don’t stand a chance. 

“Ah, yes, I’m well acquainted with the Makoto Rejection Parade,” Sousuke laughs to himself. He may have borne witness to Makoto turning down more than a few of his suitors. He may have also comforted Makoto a few times because he always feels awful after rejecting them. He realizes his suitors were far braver than he is. Sousuke’s chuckling abruptly stops, “Hey, wait a minute. What are you trying to say?” Sousuke narrows his eyes, suddenly tetchy.

He laughs it off because the look of contempt is truly priceless. “I’m not trying to say anything.” Makoto cocks his head in interest, “So a dry spell? Really?”

“Yeah. Ever since… Uh, never mind,” Sousuke abruptly stops, looking uncharacteristically flustered, and refusing to complete his thought. 

However, he stops his train of thought far too late and Makoto already knows what he was going to say. Rin. He was going to say Rin. 

Makoto shoots him a smug look, “Wow…” he does some quick math, “Five whole weeks, huh?”

“Shut up,” Sousuke mutters in irritation, instant regret etched over his face at his carelessness. 

Rin and Sousuke have, what one would call, a complicated relationship. They’re generally very… bro-y with each other but then there are times where they would just flirt like crazy. They’d dance and circle around each other but nothing ever comes from it. Watching them, he sometimes wishes he could just smash their faces together and scream, ‘just kiss already!’ 

Makoto would never do that, of course. He has more tact than that, _of course_. It’s something they need to take care of themselves but it would really benefit them both if they could just stop fucking around the obvious and actually did something about their — decidedly mutual — attraction.

And yes, he’s well aware that he’s being hypocritical and that he should take his own advice and just confess to Haruka already but whatever, this isn’t about him.

Sousuke, however, doesn’t seem too keen on discussing it either, steering them back to the very topic Makoto doesn’t want to talk about. “We’re not talking about me. I’m sure we can find someone that’ll be more than happy to take you home.”

Horrified by the flippant suggestion, Makoto hisses at the taller man, “What? No! I don’t want my first time to be with some random stranger!”

A strong hand curls around his bicep, Sousuke blinking and gaping, riveted and perplexed with just a hint of interest. “Hang on… you’re a virgin?”

Is that really so difficult to believe? Not everyone is having sex. 

“Yes,” Makoto tugs his arm free from Sousuke’s gentle, but still firm, grip. “Yes, I am and you can’t shame me for it,” Makoto turns his nose up at him.

Seemingly insulted with the suggestion, Sousuke huffs and assures, “I wasn’t.”

Makoto frowns, he might not have meant to, but the tone of disbelief makes him self-conscious. “You say that and yet that’s exactly what it sounded like.”

Gesturing to himself, Sousuke swears, “I promise, I’m not. I would never do that. Virginity is a social construct anyway,” Sousuke shrugs dismissively. There’s a quick beat before Sousuke opens his mouth again, “So what? Are you waiting for someone special?”

“You _are_ shaming me,” he mutters with irritation. People _can_ and _do_ choose to not have sex without outside motivations. And their reasons shouldn’t be called into questioned.

“I’m not!” he quickly defends, “It’s legitimate curiosity! …Okay, fine, maybe some teasing.”

“I don’t have to explain myself,” he grumbles as he crosses his arms defiantly.

Sousuke seems to realize his misstep and ardently agrees, backtracking and rescinding his question, “No, you’re absolutely right. I am being incredibly rude and I’m sorry. Just ignore me.” Sousuke looks genuinely contrite. As he should.

“You should be sorry,” nodding firmly once in agreement. But his shoulders slump, his victory short lived as his mouth shoots off before his brain can stop him. “But… I just haven’t wanted to pursue a sexual relationship.”

_Until Haruka._

But Sousuke doesn’t need to know that.

If Sousuke is surprised at his abrupt confession, he hides it well as he doesn’t miss a beat, “Well, that’s a blow to my ego.”

The unexpected response makes him laugh, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re physically attractive. I just don’t see us banging.”

“Such language, Makoto!” the bigger man gasps dramatically.

He may be in a sour mood but Sousuke’s playfulness and mock horror on his face lifts his spirits. He shakes his head in amusement, “I’m a virgin, not a prude.”

“Good to know,” Sousuke grins with a tease. “It’s also a god damn shame. Because I’d wanna bang you. Or even better,” he waggles his brows, “you banging me.”

Hiding his redden cheeks behind his hands, he barks out a bellowing laugh, half in genuine merriment and half in embarrassment. “Sou!”

“So… are you just not interested in sex?” Sousuke tilts his head inquisitively. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” he quickly assures.

“Oh, I am.” He is very much interested in sex. “Just… not with other people.” He pauses, then as an afterthought, mumbles, “Or at least, with people I hardly know.”

Sousuke rubs his chin contemplatively, like one of those wise, old men in those fantasy movies. “Not interested in semi-anonymous sex, eh? I get that. But… something’s got you sexually frustrated.” Makoto can practically see the gears turning in his head as he works out the logistics. His all-too-knowing teal eyes lighting up like fireworks during the Obon festival when he gets it. “…Or some ** _one_**. Oh! Has someone caught the fair Makoto’s eye?” He pokes a gloved finger at his cheek.

He bats the offending finger away, “Shut up.”

The dopey grin takes over his face. “That’s not a denial! So there is! How cute.”

Makoto doesn’t bother hiding his disdain at his teasing, glaring at his friend with enough heat to melt the thin layer of snow slowly building up on the sidewalk. “You’re an ass.”

There’s a brief pause but he’s not so foolish to believe that Sousuke has dropped the issue.

“So…” Sousuke starts breezily, his grin firmly plastered on his face, “Who is it?”

“Go away,” he mutters.

“Oh, come on,” Sousuke wheedles, bumping his shoulder against his arm, “don’t be like that. You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”

If he thought about it for longer than two seconds, he’d figure it out pretty easily. After all, all the clues were there. Still, Makoto won’t give Sousuke the satisfaction of caving to his pleas.

“Not when you’re being a butthole,” he grumbles irritably.

Folding his arms over his chest, he frowns, “You’re awfully grumpy.”

“I am not,” Makoto answers back sharply.

“See? Grumpy.” Sousuke sighs and adds snootily, “And sexually frustrated. Now, tell me who’s got your knickers in a bunch?”

“Leave it, Sou,” he grits, his voice tight.

Sousuke grinds an imaginary pebble under his heel in disappointment, “Oh, come on, you’re not gonna tell me? And here I thought we’re close friends.”

“Not _that_ close,” he mutters spitefully. 

There’s a strangled scoff from Sousuke’s chest, “Oh, you wound me,” he clutches his chest in mock hurt.

“Makoto-senpai! Sousuke-san!” An out of breath voice and hurried footsteps draws closer to them. He praises Rei for saving him from this conversation.

“Ryuugazaki!” Sousuke throws his arms up, “Finally.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Rei gasps harshly, “I’ve never been this area before and lost my way.”

“It’s fine.” Sousuke waves him off indifferently. “Now, where the hell is Nanase?” Sousuke shivers dramatically, as if that would make Haruka appear faster.

His back pocket buzzes, it’s a message from Haruka: _5 minutes away. See you soon._ It’s a short message that doesn’t mean much on the surface but the fact that Haruka even took the time to compose a quick message means a lot. It means that things aren’t weird or awkward.

Especially as he thinks back to what happened earlier in the week when he had spontaneously kissed Haruka on the forehead. He had done it out of reflex and thought he was going to die right then and there as soon as his lips left Haruka’s skin. He fled as quickly as he could, acting as normal as possible as he did so. He didn’t bring it up at dinner and neither did Haruka. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved that it hasn’t been addressed.

“Makoto-senpai? Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet.” Rei cocks his head with concern.

Blinking out of his reverie, Makoto slips his phone back into his pocket, “Oh. Rei. Sorry about that.”

“He’s sexually frustrated,” Sousuke chirps cheerfully and not at all helpful.

“Sousuke!” Makoto screeches in horror, “Rei, ignore him! _He’s_  sexually frustrated!”

Sousuke shrugs nonchalantly, “This is true. We’re both sexually frustrated.”

Makoto punches his arm, “Dammit, Sousuke.”

“Oh, is that so?” Calmly, Rei pushes his glasses up his narrow nose. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that but that is something that is rather easy to remedy, is it not?”

“Rei!” Makoto stutters uneasily.

Sousuke claps his hands loudly and cackles gleefully, his bright teal eyes crinkling with joy. “ _Ha!_ See? I told you!” 

“We are not talking about this anymore.” He gives Rei a stern look, “And I expected more from you.”

“I’m at university and I’m 20. I know how these things work,” Rei sniffs snootily.

“ _Oh_?” A slow smile creeps across Sousuke’s thin lips, “Is that right? Tell me more, Ryuugazaki.”

“What do you mean?” Sousuke wags his eyebrows and Rei sputters indignantly, “I beg your pardon! I just meant that I’ve taken biology!”

“It’s freezing,” he hears a flat grumble on his right, “Why are you guys waiting out here?”

He jumps in surprise, “Haru! You’re here!” He takes in a quick assessment of what he’s wearing and, like usual, it’s sorely lacking. He sighs, quietly resigned. “Again, Haru? Aren’t you cold?”

Haruka looks away, his face pinched hesitantly, cheeks filling with color, “A little bit.”

Makoto never expected Haruka to actually admit it, not after what happened the last time he had done so. But with a quick smile, he pulls off his scarf and begins to wrap Haruka up until only the blues of his eyes were visible. He doesn’t need it; they’re about to head inside. Besides, Haruka’s presence sends a flood of warmth to his insides.

Startled, Haruka looks up when he feels the weight of it settle on his neck, his blue eyes impossibly wide and questioning. Makoto simply shakes his head, “We’re going inside soon. I’m okay, Haru-chan.”

Someone cackles loudly, “ _Haru-chan_?!”

They snap out of their shared gaze, a delightful pinkness staining over the apples of Haruka’s cheeks.

Haruka quickly turns to glare at the perpetrator, “Don’t call me that,” he scowls menacingly.

“Um,” one of the smaller members of the group timidly interjects, “Nanase-san, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friends?”

Haruka arches an immaculate eyebrow in defiance, “No. Now move along.”

He chokes, stifling a laugh, “Haru…” Makoto tries — and fails — to frown in disapproval.

Haruka sighs, rolling his eyes, and huffs resignedly, “Teammates, this is everyone. Everyone, these are my teammates.”

Captain Mikoshiba barks out a raucous, belly shaking laugh, “Nanase, you really are something else. It’s alright, _I_ can do the introductions.” The orange haired man claps a strong hand on his shoulder, nearly making him lose his balance. “You’ve all met Tachibana-kun.” He jerks his thumb at a stunned Rei, “That’s Ryuugazaki-kun.” He grins widely, “And _this_ ,” he drapes an arm over Sousuke’s shoulder, “is Sousuke. Now, I’ve never had the privilege of swimming with him but my brother did!”

Sousuke looks a little uncomfortable with the contact — especially considering the kerfuffle that occurred the last time they saw each other — but doesn’t make any moves to brush him off.

Rei clears his throat, and nods his head cordially, “It’s good to see you again, Mikoshiba-san.”

“Likewise,” the captain’s voice booms through the icy evening.

“Will you be joining us, Captain Mikoshiba?” Makoto questions curiously.

“Don’t worry, we’re just heading in the same direction,” a tall blonde responds. If he remembers correctly, he’s Kuroda-san, a butterfly specialist.

“Yeah, so you should go now,” Haruka grouses at his teammates.

“Don’t be so hasty!” Captain Mikoshiba laughs jovially, “I haven’t even finished with the introductions! This is Kuroda, he specializes in the fly. Tanaka here swims the breast stroke. Ono, the back, and Kurogawa, the IM.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be more of you?” Sousuke knits his brows together.

“It’s not really an official team outing. And they had other plans,” the back-stroker, Ono, explains.

“He means they’re not old enough to participate in the depravities they’ll be engaged in,” Haruka grumbles in exasperation.

“That’s not true! Well, I mean, that only applies to _some_ of them,” Tanaka corrects. “We do have a pretty big team.”

The small group of swimmers eagerly strike up surprisingly easy conversations with both Rei and Sousuke, asking them all kinds of prying questions about Haruka much to Haruka’s chagrin.

He smiles gently at Haruka’s perpetual glare. He grips the sleeve of Haruka’s coat, swinging his arm between them playfully. He wishes he were brave enough to lace their fingers together.

“They’re not so bad,” Makoto murmurs faintly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “Your hair’s still wet,” he frowns in disapproval.

The glare melts from his face, replaced with his usual stoic demeanor but also with shining eyes. “Just a little,” Haruka sighs contently, closing his eyes and leaning into his light touch.

It’s things like that that makes his heart flutter, that makes him think that he’s not alone on this island. “Haru…”

He’s tempted to confess right here and now but he’s surrounded by friends and acquaintances and this isn’t the type of thing you do in front of others. Also, he’s pretty sure that Haruka wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Makoto?” Haruka lightly tugs at his collar.

“Hm?” Makoto murmurs, distracted. He almost thinks Haruka is pulling him down to meet his lips but—

“It’s cold out here,” Haruka peeks up from under his hair.

That snaps him out of their tiny bubble. “Right.” He swallows roughly, and glances at the group. “Right. Hey guys, I hate to break this up but we should get inside. Haru’s cold.”

“Rude. You didn’t suggest that we go inside when I was cold,” Sousuke grumbles sourly.

_Well, you’re not the one I’m in love with, now are you_ , Makoto thinks in amusement. “Our whole party is here now. We can get seated and won’t be blocking the entrance.”

“Right. We’re keeping you from your plans.” The captain turns to his team and, in his booming-est voice, commands, “Men, we’re going!”

“It was nice meeting you all!” Kurogawa grins boyishly.

Tanaka waves enthusiastically, “Hope to see you all again!”

Haruka, appalled by the mere idea, mutters under his breath, “Never.”

Makoto snickers and tugs him toward the entrance. The four of them shuffle into the small, well-lit, and, most importantly, warm restaurant. They’re quickly seated, menus placed in front of them and after he debates with himself over what to get, the waiter returns to take their orders.

Conversation is easy, as each one catches up the rest of the group to the happenings in their lives. Rei tries his hardest to explain the project he’s currently working on but all the engineering jargon leaves them scratching their heads. Before Rei could really get into the nitty, gritty technical aspects of it, Sousuke smoothly steers the conversation elsewhere. Namely, in his direction.

“How are you doing with your studies now that you’re working?”

“So far, so good. It’s only been three days so not much is expected out of me. I’m just signing people in and assigning computers to them.” Makoto shrugs indifferently, “It’s pretty laid back and it gives me time to study when nothing’s happening.”

“Just take it easy, all right? I don’t want you losing your head in all this,” Sousuke stares at him sternly.

Sometimes, he thinks Sousuke is the worrywart. Makoto nods in agreement, “I know, I know.”

“I’ll make sure Makoto doesn’t over work himself,” Haruka’s voice is firm and resolute.

He tries to stop the smile from taking over his face, really, he does, but he’s too giddy and Haruka is too amazing that he simply cannot contain his joy. It doesn’t hurt that all throughout dinner, Haruka keeps leaning into him, sharing his food with him, intently listening to his stories, and casting meaningful looks at him. At least, he thinks they’re meaningful looks. It’s possible he might be overthinking things again as is his nature.

He needs to stop with the obsessing and the constant second guessing every little thing and just allow himself feel what he feels. Because those feelings make him happy. Really happy. Being in love with Haruka makes him happy and it will continue to make him happy even if it turns out Haruka doesn’t reciprocate. Well, he’d be sad for a while but the point still stands; having feelings for Haruka makes him happy.

The conversation flows freely, with Haruka contributing minimally until Rei directly addresses a question at him. “Haruka-senpai, did you figure out what ever it was that was bothering you yesterday?”

Haruka pauses from scooping up some of his soup and looks up, eyes wide and startled at being put on the spot. “Oh. Uh, kind of.”

Makoto hasn’t heard such uncertainty from Haruka in a long time and that in itself is concerning. He cocks his head, opening his mouth to ask him about it but Haruka shakes his head, _not here_ , so he lets it go. He’ll get the story from him when they have some more privacy.

With dinner over, they were firmly, but politely, rushed out of their seats as soon as the bill was paid. They stand, once again, in front of the restaurant, leeching off warmth from the heaters.

“So what are you guys up to now?” Sousuke asks and Makoto looks on with envy as he pulls on his gloves.

“I have to head back and finish my project,” Rei answers as he tucks his scarf into his coat.

“Wait, you’re not done? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to take you away from your work!” Makoto apologizes hurriedly.

But Rei shakes his head, “Oh, it’s quite all right, Makoto-senpai, please don’t worry yourself over it. It’s completed. I just need to make some finishing touches. Besides, I needed to take a break and it was nice seeing my friends.”

“Aw,” Sousuke coos, “You like us.”

“I quite enjoy your company, yes,” Rei pulls his hood on as they walk toward the end of the block.

A delighted snort comes from Makoto, “You shouldn’t flirt with him, Rei. You’ll get more than you bargained for.” 

“I’m not flirting,” Rei glances back, confusion clouding his face, “Wait, am I flirting?”

“You said you enjoy my company,” Sousuke reminds him.

“I said ‘I enjoy _your_ company.’ As in the collective _your_ ,” he clarifies. While the explanation is unnecessary for the majority of the group, Sousuke has a habit of deliberately twisting their words for shits and giggles.

“Ugh. Everyone is just stomping all over my ego tonight,” Sousuke moodily shoves his hands in his pockets, head cocked contemplatively, “Maybe that’s why I’m in a dry spell…”

Makoto releases another snort. What a load of crock. “Pretty sure it’s because of R-”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Sousuke narrows his eyes dangerously at Makoto. “Come on, Rei. I’ll walk you home.”

“Oh,” the youngest member of their group murmurs perkily in surprise and appreciation. “That is very kind of you, Sousuke-san. Thank you.”

“And what can I say? I’m a knight in shining armor.” Sousuke eyes at him critically, “How do you feel about shining knights on white horses?” 

Clearing his throat, Rei furrows his brows, “I think they are fictional constructs that only exist in fairy tales and even then, they aren’t what one would think of as virtuous.”

His body slumps in disappointment and sighs heavily. “You are killing me, Rei.”

“Wha-? You asked. Did I say something wrong?” Rei seems genuinely confused at Sousuke’s decidedly over the top reaction.

Haruka huffs, finally throwing in his two cents. “He’s trying to flirt with you. Just ignore him and keep doing what you’re doing.”

Sousuke clicks his tongue at him, “Don’t encourage him!”

“Find someone else to flirt with,” Haruka shoots back. “Someone that’s actually receptive of your advances.”

Rei nervously slides his glasses up his narrow nose, “I’m flattered Sousuke-san but I’m just not interested in a romantic relationship right now. I need to concentrate on my studies.”

Sousuke nearly busts his gut laughing at that. Wiping his tears away with a wry grin, he explains, “I’m just teasing you, Ryuugazaki. I’m not trying to be your boyfriend, so relax.” Sousuke cranes his neck, and with a wide, charming smile, and, almost seductively, asks, “You want me to walk you home, Makoto?”

“Makoto’s coming home with _me_ ,” Haruka cuts in immediately with a curt voice and piercing glare aimed at the other dark-haired man.

Makoto looks over to Haruka in surprise. “I am?” He’s met with Haruka’s steely determination. Stumbling, he quickly amends, “I-I mean, I am.” 

It’s certainly news to him. He hadn’t planned on staying at Haruka’s and he isn’t quite sure what to expect when he gets there, but he sure as hell isn’t going to turn down more time with Haruka.

“Spoilsport,” Sousuke boos loudly.

Rei’s eyes light up in comprehension, “I believe I understand now. You enjoy the act of flirting.”

Sousuke chuckles with a lop-sided grin, mirth filling his voice, “I do.”

“Hm,” Rei taps his chin, “Then I shall flirt with you, Sousuke-san,”  he declared with determination.

The flirt in question clutches his stomach, laughing jovially. “Not like that. Come on. We have a long train ride. I’ll use some awful pick-up lines on you and then you can reject me with your rationality.”

“And that would be enjoyable to you?” Rei furrows his brows curiously.

Sousuke shrugs nonchalantly, “Sure, why not. Night, Makoto, Haru.”

Makoto waves at them cheerfully as they head in the opposite direction, “Have a good night, Sousuke, Rei. Text me when you get home!”

“Of course. Good night, Haruka-senpai, Makoto-senpai. See you next time.”

Haruka hums in acknowledgment with a tiny wave, “Yeah, see you soon. Night, Rei, Sousuke.”

The snow had long stopped falling during the course of dinner, but the icy, chilly air still lingers. With only their harsh, shivering breaths filling the air, they briskly tread toward the train station in comfortable silence, basking quietly in each other’s company. The streets are surprisingly crowded despite the unbearable cold. Even with the frosty temperature, he supposes people still enjoy the refreshing air.

His fingers have quickly grown stiff, and he again laments the loss of his gloves. Pulling his hands out of his pockets, he rubs them together, blowing breath into them, and clenching and unclenching his fists to work circulation into his fingers.

“You’re not wearing gloves,” Haruka murmurs lowly, shuffling just a tiny bit closer to him.

With a short puff of air, Makoto exhales through his nose noisily, sounding more like a laugh than anything else. “Neither are you.”

Haruka stares intently at his hands with concern. “Yeah, but I never wear them. You do.”

Makoto shakes his head, with an air of amusement, snorting at the truthfulness of the statement. He looks down at his hands and squeezes them, sighing forlornly at the numbness spreading along his fingers. “I lost them earlier. It must have fallen out. It’s okay. I have pockets.”

He lets his hands drop to his sides but before he can shove them back into the pockets of his parka, Haruka stealthily slips his smaller hand into his. He turns to Haruka in surprise but Haruka is already turned away, studiously avoiding his scrutiny.

“This is okay, right?” Haruka mumbles quietly.

His chest pounds erratically, the simple action making him feel like he’s lighter than air, and he swears he’d float away if it weren’t for Haruka holding his hand. He can’t stop the stutter from leaving his chest, “Y-yes,” he nods jerkily, “That-it’s okay.”

It’s only because of their two decade-long friendship that Makoto is able to notice the way Haruka’s rigid shoulders relax at his answer. And the way his pristine, sapphire eyes soften when he finally looks at him again. And the way his thin, pink lips curve into a delicate smile. All things that causes his stomach to flip and heart to flutter.

The small, barely noticeable curve of his lips is becoming an increasingly familiar sight. There’s a tenderness, yes, but there’s also an expression he’s never seen before on Haruka. For the first time in his life, he can’t quite decipher what Haruka is thinking. It’s concerning and exciting at the same time because despite knowing each other their entire lives, there are still parts of Haruka that he doesn’t know; hasn’t yet learned about. That there are all these little things that Haruka says and does, all these little looks that mean something else entirely when filtered through these feelings.

He wants to learn it all.

Haruka gently squeezes the hand folded comfortably within his, and suddenly, he’s perfectly warm again. “It’s cold. Let’s hurry up and go home.”

Is Haruka trying to tell him something? Is this Haruka’s version of some kind admission? Or is Haruka just unwittingly — or maybe even wittingly — torturing him? Gods, he really needs to figure out how to confess to Haruka if only to save his own sanity. And soon too, because these little shows of affection will be the death of him.

A rush of exhilaration, full of warmth and radiance, floods his chest.

He nods happily, “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do an awful lot of research for, like, one line of payoff. It’s apparently unusual for Tokyo to have heavy snow (average is about 11cm. _Annually_ ). But climate change is something that actually exists despite what some people would like for you to believe so… I’ll allow it. 
> 
> I like to think that when and if Sousuke moves on from all his angst of his derailed swimming career, I imagine that he’s a bit of a jester and goofball. And a big time charmer. And a massive flirt. He can still wear a mean glare though. 
> 
> Everyone needs to do me a favor and stop being so goddamn adorable…
> 
> Anyway, until next time!


	12. You Ought to Tell Her That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He dunks his head back into the water in hopes of preserving his dignity. He refuses to be jealous of a _cat_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird writing a wintery fic when it been triple digits?
> 
> Yes. Yes, it is. Thank you for asking.
> 
> So, I kept telling myself, “Self, you need to get this up by Haru’s birthday.” In the month since my last update, I have been in, what one would describe as, a rut. I’d look at my work, write two, _maybe_ three sentences, and then give up. It’s become increasingly difficult to transfer my thoughts on to the page. 
> 
> Anyway, you didn’t come here to listen to me whine so enjoy the new chapter!

The first thing that happened, almost immediately, when they burst through the apartment door is stand in front of the heater until the numbness went away and their noses returned to a normal shade of human. It took a while, neither one of them wanting to leave the satisfying gust of toasty, warm air swirling around them, but they eventually peeled themselves away from the radiator. With feeling returning to their limbs, Haruka graciously gave up his bathroom to Makoto while he fed Saba a late dinner. 

She seemed to be a bit bitter that she had been left alone for so long and fed so late. She didn’t greet him home as she usually did, her head turned stiffly away, and she refused to look at him. At least she agreed to having dinner. As she ate though, she angled her body away from him, giving him, what he assumed was, the cat version of the silent treatment. She is the pickiest, most high maintenance cat he’s ever met. He blames Makoto for spoiling her in the short time that he’s had her. 

Shortly after that, Makoto finished his shower, dressed in a pair of fresh pajamas. It’s one of his sillier pairs, with cartoon monsters eating corn on the cob splattered across the soft cotton. Makoto was also wearing, in what is quickly becoming the bane of Haruka’s existence, his glasses. His eyes seem wider, brighter, _greener_ behind the thin piece of plastic. They usually give him a more refined, mature look but at times, like now, it only emphasizes his boyishness. 

Makoto quickly relinquished the bath with a knowing smile and faintly flushed cheeks, and threw himself into doting on Saba as Haruka goes to take his own shower and bath. 

So that’s where he currently is: soaking in the warm bath, relishing the feel of the water. 

He’s hoping that the familiarity and comfort the water usually brings him will help settle him down. That it will help him stop his mind from churning too much, too fast. His hormones have been working on overdrive tonight. He’s never had that problem until this week. That isn’t to say that he had a nonexistent libido before now. On the contrary, whenever the need arose, he’d handle it in an efficient, almost business-like manner and only out of basic necessity. But with the added attraction to Makoto, he’s finding that nothing he does is able to satiate his growing lust.

The physical desires for his best friend manifested almost immediately. It didn’t take very long before he began to wonder how Makoto would feel against him, how muscles would react under his touch. Or how he’d sound under more intimate circumstances. It was that restlessness that led him to foolishly seek Rei for advice. Good thing he came to his senses before he let anything slip.

As for tonight… even he noticed how quiet he was being throughout dinner, more so than usual. And although Makoto didn’t bring it up, he could tell that Makoto noticed it as well and was curious about it. He knows he’ll have to explain himself, if only to alleviate whatever over-the-top, outrageous worries Makoto has developed. 

On the other hand, Makoto was exceedingly attentive tonight, with gentle touches, lingering looks, and making sure he was warm enough. He thought his knees were going to buckle when Makoto wrapped him up in his scarf. Which is kind of laughable because how many times has Makoto done that before? But that’s his life now as seen through a different lens: things that were once commonplace and not considered a big deal were suddenly very much a big deal and subjected to endless speculation.

All of that and more made him want to kiss Makoto. 

He came close too, tugging at his collar but stopped short of following through. It was not something he was going to do with an audience. Especially not in front of  _that_ particular audience. He has more dignity than that.

Also contributing to the messy hormones thing? Makoto looked _really_ good in that color blocked heather grey and white sweater. He can’t recall ever seeing it before so it must be new. It wasn’t too tight but it still clung to his muscles in all the right places. Namely, his back. 

And shoulders. 

Also, his arms. 

And, _merciful Zeus_ , his chest. 

Really, _all_ of his muscles. 

He looked _really_ good in it.

Water splashes over the rim when Haruka jolts in surprise. Without him noticing, his hand had snuck down toward his crotch, his fingers brushing lightly against his twitching cock. The fuse has been lit, and he is a walking time bomb. The heat sitting low in his stomach clenches with desire, his cock swelling in interest. 

Yanking his hand away, he huffs in irritation. He shouldn’t’ve conjured up the image because now really is not the time to be having inappropriate bodily reactions. Not when the very person he’s having those bodily reactions for is in the next room, oblivious to his plight. That especially means that he definitely _shouldn’t_ beat off. 

He frowns deeply. When exactly did he turn into Kou? He has been around half naked people his entire life. He spends most of his days surrounded by well-built, hard bodies diving in and out of the water. Muscles don’t impress him. It’s not something he gives much thought to. He doesn’t drool or admire them the way Kou indiscriminately does. It’s simply not a turn on for him. 

And Makoto’s body isn’t exactly foreign to him. He is quite familiar with what he looks like without his shirt. They’ve grown up together, swam together for most of their lives, compared their bodies as they grew and changed. And yet, the _sweater_ is what does him in? It’s the  _sweater_ that makes him want to unwrap him like a birthday present just so he can trace the strong, hidden muscles with his eyes, fingers, and quite possibly, tongue? It’s the _sweater_ that makes him curious as to how Makoto’s muscles would feel and react under his palms? The persistence of these urges are more than a little disconcerting considering his attraction to Makoto is more than just physical.

But fuck, he really did want to touch him and it took all his willpower to not reach out to do exactly that. It’s a really good sweater. Which finally brings him to the strangeness of this entire situation. He doesn’t normally look for contact, preferring not to be touched and yet, he actively seeks out Makoto’s. He actively wonders how his hands would feel on him, how he would touch him — gentle and teasing or firm and hungry? Or how his lips would feel against his own, if they were as warm as they looked, how he’d taste. He rarely initiates contact and yet, tonight, he didn’t even think twice; he was the one that slid his hand into Makoto’s. It was shockingly bold on his part.

He rolls his eyes at himself, incredulous at the farcical thought. Is this his life now? A world in which a little bit of hand holding is considered ‘shockingly bold’? As if they’ve never held hands before? When did his life turn into a shouju manga? Once again, this is clearly all Makoto’s fault. He wouldn’t be floundering like this if it weren’t for him. 

Plagued with exasperating thoughts, he sinks further into the water, hoping it would provide some clarity. And while the water does make him feel better — calmer — his feelings are still swirling as chaotically as the ocean during a raging storm. One moment he wants nothing more than for the effervescent bubbly-ness to overwhelm him and sweep him away, and in the next, he’s desperately tamping it down, trying to keep it at bay. Makoto is intent on pushing him further and further out of his comfort zone.

He’s not an idiot. He recognizes the teasing smiles, persistent touches, and playful banter for what they were: flirtation. So he isn’t wrong; Makoto is aware of the something that’s happening. Whatever uncertainties he had the other day was wiped away with a simple smile. He has no doubts about whether or not Makoto is harboring romantic feelings for him; he is a thousand percent sure that he does. He feels stupid for not noticing it earlier because in hindsight, it’s rather painfully obvious. 

It leaves him lightheaded and giddy, getting drunk off the knowledge. It makes him want to curl up in bed and smile moronically into a pillow. It makes him sort of feel like the main character in one of those cheesy daytime dramas his grandmother used to watch when he was younger. Not that he’ll ever admit any of this; he’ll take it to his grave. 

So why hasn’t Makoto done anything about it? He highly doubts that it’s the reason, but if Makoto’s feelings for him were supposed to be secret, he’s not doing a very good job of keeping it. Makoto is pretty open with his feelings most of the time, he’s a compassionate soul which makes it difficult for him to hide behind juvenile humor (like Nagisa) or brash bluster (like Rin) or even brood in a dark corner somewhere (cough, Sousuke, cough)1. If Makoto would just say what he’s thinking, tell what he’s feeling, they could be in the bath together right now. Instead, he’s in the living room. 

Playing with Saba.

He dunks his head back into the water in hopes of preserving his dignity. He refuses to be jealous of a _cat_ 2.

Of course, if he really wants Makoto to join him in the bath, he could take the initiative and confess himself instead of waiting around. That is _exactly_ what he decided to do just yesterday, but words are dumb — important, but still dumb — and he’s not very good at them. He needs some more time. He needs to carefully think through his words. Words have meaning. A misplaced pause, a shift in tone, an erroneous conjugation can drastically change the meanings of words so he needs to be selective with his because he doesn’t want to leave any room for misunderstandings.

Then again, if Makoto would just take the lead on this, then he wouldn’t have to expend so much time and energy into thinking about what words to use. Besides, Makoto is much better with words than he is. His prose is often powerful and concise. 

_Literature nerd_ , he thinks fondly. 

Perhaps Makoto is worried that if he confessed, Haruka would accept out of obligation instead of genuine love. He’s a little offended that this hypothetical Makoto would think that he’d do such a thing and in turn, he’s insulted on the behalf of the hypothetical Makoto for thinking Haruka would think something so ridiculous of Makoto in the first place.

Haruka rubs his temples, a mild headache is beginning to develop. He’ll keep that to himself; Makoto will no doubt take it as evidence that soaking too long in the bath will lead to illness. He lifts up his arm and upon seeing his fingers, sighs. The water hasn’t helped him get any closer to solving his dilemma but he supposes it’s time to get out of the bath anyway, seeing that his fingers have begun to prune. It’s not a good look.

Thankfully, his semi hard-on has gone away all on its own. The last thing he needed was to walk around while sporting an erection — he refuses to touch himself while Makoto is within the same vicinity; at least not until they’ve hashed out their relationship status — he wouldn’t be able to look Makoto in the eye. 

Hauling himself out of the tub, he ponders about his guest. This will be the first time he’s getting extended alone time with Makoto. Monday didn’t count because he was still grappling with the whole being-in-love-with-his-best-friend concept. Major, life changing conversations aren’t meant to be had when half the party involved isn’t all there. 

But now that he has him alone, he’s at a loss of what to do. He’s still not quite ready for a big, emotional heart to heart. And it’s a little nerve wracking considering he can’t seem to get the room to stop spinning whenever Makoto is around. It’s a miracle that he’s able to appear as calm and composed as he does. He checks the mirror, the flush in his cheeks has faded along with his hard-on and his hair is a wet mess with the ends curling around his head. He shakes his head at his reflection, things are about to get very interesting. 

Quickly getting dressed and wrapping his fingers around the doorknob, he takes a deep breath. No more dilly dallying, no more hiding, and no more delaying. He yanks open the door, towel draped over his shoulders and, as casually as he can manage, strolls out into the living room. Makoto is still playing with Saba, dangling the feather teaser toy above her head as she tries to bat at it.

Makoto turns toward the sound of Haruka’s slippers shuffling over the hardwood floors. “Finally,” he grins pleasantly, “I thought I was gonna have to pull you out.”

“You might have ended up hurting yourself. I wasn’t wearing my jammers in the bath,” he haughtily informs him, remembering the way Makoto slammed into the doorjamb nearly two months ago.

“That was _one_ time and you caught me off guard,” he pouts childishly, clearly remembering the same event. Makoto lets Saba snatch the toy from him, instead concentrating on Haruka. Contrasted against the black frames of his glasses, Makoto’s face turns to a delightful shade of pink. He fidgets restlessly in his seat. “So that’s where my shirt wandered off to.”

Haruka looks down, and lo and behold, he is wearing that blasted yellow and orange T-shirt again. He has no defense, no excuse for wearing his clothes. He never needed one before but, as he is quickly beginning to realize, things are different now. He’s never been much of a fan of change, preferring steadiness over chaos, but he finds that, as long as Makoto is along for the ride, he doesn’t mind it.

The whole thing is both exhilarating and terrifying.

“It’s comfortable.” Haruka shrugs flippantly, causing the collar to slide past his clavicles. Even with his last growth spurt and two years of intense training regimen, Makoto’s clothes are still a smidge too loose. Comfortable, but loose. “It looks better on me anyway.”

Makoto laughs with a cough, “No arguments here.” The heat from the pair of jade orbs not straying from his collarbones. 

Yep, Makoto is definitely interested. “Didn’t think so,” Haruka mutters under his breath. 

Makoto’s eyes trail up, stopping at his face. “Your hair is wet again,” he shakes his head, accepting the inevitable. 

Haruka has noticed that, even without Makoto telling him. After all, he just had a bath. Haruka gives him a one-shoulder shrug, a verbal response doesn’t seem pertinent.

Makoto moves over and pats the empty space next to him, “Come here, I’ll help you dry.”

Under normal circumstances, he’d decline — _vehemently_. He’s not one of the twins nor is he a child. He doesn’t need to be fussed over. But these aren’t normal circumstances. He would very much like for Makoto to dote on him. 

He sighs in resignation. Where has his life of self-sufficiency and independence gone?

He plops down next to him, trying to give off an air of nonchalance. Makoto gestures, _turn around_ , so he does, angling himself so that Makoto has better access to his hair. Makoto takes the towel, draping it over his head, and begins to gently rub his head dry. 

Haruka holds himself stiffly, awkward and unsure of what to do with himself. But he’s saved when Saba abandons her toy and jumps into his lap.

Makoto chuckles in his ear, he’s alarmingly close. Haruka can feel the warm puff of breath licking at his neck, can smell the fresh scent of soap still lingering on his skin. “I think Saba missed you.”

Haruka stares at the quickly growing tabby. It seems like it was just yesterday when Saba was this scrawny, little thing, just barely bigger than both his hands combined. Now, she stretches out and curls snugly in his lap.

“She was mad at me earlier,” he swallows thickly as he strokes her belly.

“Hm,” Makoto hums cheerfully, “I don’t think she was mad, just lonely.”

“Seemed like she got on just fine with you,” he points out petulantly.

“I was just entertaining her until her favorite person came back.” He pulls the towel away, instead running his long fingers through the dark strands, and fluffing it. A stray finger brushes against the back of his neck. “It worked both ways.”

See? _That_. Right _there_. There is no mistaking it, Makoto is totally flirting. How is he supposed to counteract that?

Besides, Haruka thinks that’s only half true. While he doesn’t doubt Saba’s affection for him, he’s positive that she’s far more fond of Makoto. “I’m only her favorite because I feed her. You were her favorite too when you stayed over that week.”

“Yeah, well, now we’re back to competing for your attention,” Makoto sighs sadly, his fingers now lightly massaging his scalp.

Haruka wants to refute that. He’s pretty sure that he’s the one competing with Saba for Makoto’s attention. But instead of correcting him, he presses into Makoto, murmuring softly, “There’s no contest, you know.”

There’s a pause in Makoto’s ministrations, a quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it pause. But Haruka knows Makoto better than anyone else and he did not miss it. Makoto took that pause to take a breath, collect his thoughts.

“You ought to tell _her_ that,” Makoto pouts playfully. 

So Makoto did understand. Good. It makes things easier. 

Haruka refrains from smiling, it’s good to know that he has some self-control left. Although, he can’t resist from teasing Makoto. “Who said I was talking about you?”

Makoto chokes on a laugh, “Haru!”

Haruka twists his head just in time to see the joyful, serene crinkling of his eyes. Is there anyone more beautiful than Tachibana Makoto? Because he can’t seem to think of any. Seven billion people on this vast planet and he is positive that no one even comes close. 

The beauty of Makoto is that he’s beautiful on the outside, yes — he has long known that his best friend is what people with functioning eyeballs would consider to be aesthetically pleasing, and he’s inclined to agree with those opinions — but he’s also beautiful on the inside. His kindness and generosity and compassion makes him one big, giant package of beautifulness. 

“Your hands feel good,” he contently and _inexplicably_ blurts out. He can almost hear the record scratch going off in his brain. His eyes widen in panic; just because he was thinking it, doesn’t mean it’s something he should say out loud! And this is why he needs more time before he can properly confess to Makoto. Words are dumb. “The head massage. It… It’s nice.”

Haruka cringes. _It’s nice_? What is the matter with him? The one time his brain isn’t connected to his mouth and this disaster unfolds.

Makoto doesn’t seem to know what to say or do either, his wide, green eyes glistening under the florescent lights. Haruka notices the way his Adam’s apple bobs out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, he’s struck with the desire to bite and lay claim to the prominent feature. Even with the olive undertones of his skin, there’s a telling blush that rises to Makoto’s face.

“I’m… I’m glad,” Makoto laughs woodenly.

Haruka lifts a worried eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Fine! I’m fine,” Makoto squeaks hurriedly.

The audible squeak isn’t very convincing, but Haruka decides to spare Makoto — and himself — any awkwardness.

“Is my hair dry yet?” There. Subject changed. Not the smoothest of transitions, but it’ll do. Anything to put the ‘your hands feel good’ business behind them.

Makoto clears his throat, clearly grateful for the change in topic. “No. You ought to get a blow dryer.”

Haruka scoffs in amusement. “Because that’s just what my hair needs in addition to all the chlorine.”

“Hah,” Makoto scratches his cheek sheepishly, “I suppose you have a point there. Still, it comes in handy when you take these late night baths.”

“Uh-huh,” his disinterest made obvious. 

But Makoto doesn’t give up, instead explaining the importance of drying his hair. “I’m just saying, you don’t want to go to sleep with your hair still wet. You’ll get headaches!”

_Ugh_. How is he supposed to not fall even more in love with Makoto when he’s being all caring and considerate like that? Makoto needs to slow down because if his heart beats any faster, he’ll need to be admitted to the hospital. 

“You sound like your mom. You sound like _my_ mom,” he mumbles with a hint of amusement. 

“It’s true!” Makoto insists stubbornly. 

Haruka sighs, he’s skeptical of these old wives tales that Makoto seems so fond of but if he continues to engage in this, it will never end. “I’ll think about it,” he finally relents. 

He wiggles in his seat. Haruka tilts his head back, indicating that he wants Makoto’s fingers on his scalp again. Makoto indulges the silent request, his strong fingers weaving into his hair and massaging his head in the nicest of ways. He now understands why Saba is so insistent on being petted. It’s a brilliant sensation — ignoring the fact that he’s not a cat. It’s the simple pleasures in life.

He feels Makoto playing with the almost dried strands, his knuckles grazing his ears. “Hey, Haru?” Makoto murmurs indistinctly. 

“Hm?” Haruka sighs contently at the tiny circles Makoto’s fingers impress upon him. 

“About earlier…” he hesitates with uncertainty, “With Rei?”

That relaxing feeling he was enjoying just five seconds ago? Gone. Haruka’s eyes snap open and tenses. He knew it was coming and yet, he hasn’t really thought about how to actually explain to Makoto in a way that doesn’t sound incoherent. “What about it?” 

Makoto clears his throat cautiously and he almost thinks he’ll drop the question. _Almost_. “What… what did he mean? What was bothering you?” 

He knows Makoto isn’t actually pushing for an answer. Makoto generally lets Haruka go at his own pace. But he is curious and maybe even a little hurt that he confided in Rei instead of him. Even though he didn’t _actually_ confide in Rei. 

“…Nothing was bothering me, per se. There were just a few things I’ve been trying to figure out.” Haruka opts for the truth, vague though it is.

“Oh. And have you?” His fingers have stopped moving but he doesn’t pull away. 

“Not really. Well, a little bit but… there’s a few more things that I’m still working on.” He turns his head, the crystal blues in his eyes fiercely burning with promise, “But once I’m done, you’ll be the first one I tell.”

Makoto’s fingers leave his scalp, his eyes blink in surprise, confusion, and then acceptance. He gives him a lopsided smile, “I… Okay. Whenever you’re ready, Haru-chan.” 

“Drop the -chan,” he grumbles, mostly out of habit than anything else. Haruka rights himself, his back reclined against the couch. Saba mewls, disgruntled at being disturbed and jumps off to drink from her bowl. “Did you want to watch something? Or just go to bed?”

Oh. He swears the double meaning of his word choice wasn’t intentional. And normally, he wouldn’t think twice about it. But it’s out there and he stands by it. Like his earlier gaffe, it elicits a response from Makoto that’s both charming and humorous. 

“Oh, um, you’re tired already?” Makoto isn’t very good at hiding how his words were affecting him. Haruka can definitely work with this. “Well, I guess you would be, what with class and training. Or, well, I suppose it’s not really training since it’s the off-season, so I guess it’s practice, right? But what are you practicing for if there aren’t any meets? So I guess, it really is training since you gotta keep yourself in shape. Just, you know, don’t overdo it because that would be bad.” The nervous babbling trails off into a quiet murmur, his fingers twisting nervously in his shirt.

Haruka decides that his slip up is more than worth it if it meant that he gets to witness Makoto ramble his way through a response. It’s amusing and all kinds of cute when his face gets redder and redder with every rambling thought. He’d like nothing more than to kiss those reddened cheeks, feel how warm they’d be under his lips. 

“Are you tired then?” He cocks his head curiously. 

“I…” Makoto hesitates.

Despite what people think, Haruka and Makoto aren’t actually telepathic but in this case, Haruka can practically see Makoto arguing with himself. Yes, for,  _I totally want to go to bed with you and, maybe, but also not really because I may spontaneously combust, do more than just sleep_ or no, for,  _I’m not sure if my hormones can handle that kind of stress because I really **will** spontaneously combust_. He’s familiar with the feeling, he’s going through them himself.

Makoto leans in, licking his lips as he answers, “I’d like to-” he doesn’t finish because _someone’s_ phone— that is, not his — chirps noisily. Makoto jumps back, startled and panicked, the tension shattering unexpectedly and any anticipation he was feeling in waiting for his answer deflates faster than a cheap plastic beach ball. He was pretty sure it was going to be his preferred answer too. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Makoto fumbles for his phone — if only to silence it — and quickly looks at the screen, puzzled over the caller. “It’s Sousuke. I told him to text. Why is he calling?”

Haruka’s annoyance bubbles with the interruption. Doubly so now that he knows it’s Yamazaki that’s doing the interrupting. But he knows it’ll bother Makoto for the rest of the night if he just ignores him. Makoto really is too nice for his own good. 

“You should answer it,” he gives in.

Makoto hesitates, biting his lip in reluctance but then nods, tapping on the little green button to accept the call, mouthing _I’m so sorry_ again as he greets Sousuke. “Sou? Is something wrong? …Excuse me?”

With the moment gone, he sinks into the couch, dejected. Yamazaki has crap timing. _That cock-blocking little shit._

Although, with his mind racing from all the out of control flirting, he should take a moment to cool off and re-center himself. He slips away to the kitchen and downs an entire glass of water. He grabs another glass for Makoto and refills his own.

“Are you still with Rei?” Haruka watches Makoto intently, trying to discern the reason for the call. The only change he notices is the incredulity on his face mounting. “Are you crazy? It’s late. And cold!” Makoto frowns at whatever Sousuke is saying on the other end. “I don’t see how that’s _my_ problem. Besides, I’m at Haru’s, remember? I already took a shower.”

Haruka crosses the room, handing Makoto a glass, and settling back next to him on the couch. He only gets Makoto’s side of the conversation but he can still make out that Sousuke is asking Makoto to join him in whatever late night shenanigans he’s up to. 

_That cock-blocking little shit._

Makoto laughs heartily, “And if you ask me to choose again, my response won’t change.” Makoto’s half of the conversation turns ambiguous. A fresh splash of pink blooms over his cheeks as he scowls into the phone, “I already told you! I’m not interested in that!” Makoto leans back against the couch, taking a small sip of water, and frowns, “I am not dignifying that with a response.” After another small sip of water, he does a literal spit take. Makoto uses the discarded towel to hastily clean up. “…S-shut up!” Whatever Sousuke said turns Makoto from slightly pink to bright red, his blush reaching all the way to his ears and down his neck.

Haruka decides that he’s had enough. He’s humored Makoto, and by extension, Sousuke, long enough and he has no more patience in being a bystander to half the conversation. He grabs the phone and flatly tells Yamazaki, “Whatever it is, Makoto isn’t interested.” He hangs up on him without a goodbye, tossing the phone on the coffee table. 

“Ha-Haru!” Makoto admonishes, his eyes growing round and wide with shock. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You were taking too long.” Haruka frowns at him, “And he was making you uncomfortable.”

Makoto swallows thickly, “He was just being a doofus. …Sorry about that.”

Haruka waits for him to drain the rest of his glass, collecting the empty glasses and depositing them in the sink. With one phone call, things suddenly turn from vaguely intimate to downright awkward. It’s infuriating. He brushes the stray lint from his pajama bottoms.

Wearily, he mumbles, “I’m going to bed.” He sighs, he can’t help but feel disheartened with the turn of events. “I’m exhausted.” And he really is. He’s irrationally upset and it’s unfair to take it out on Makoto but the annoyance and frustration over the course of the ill-timed phone call has made him extremely tired — physically and emotionally. He doesn’t even bother tempering his words, “Come to bed when you’re ready.”

Makoto seems to sense his discontent as he replies instantly. “I’m ready now,” Makoto’s response is firm and confident. 

Placated that Makoto chose him over sitting with Saba in the living room, he nods. They get ready for bed, brushing their teeth side by side and taking turns with the toilet. Haruka goes around the apartment, making sure the front door is locked (despite what Makoto thinks, he does lock his doors, thank you very much) and turning off the lights. 

Makoto is already comfortably under the covers when he enters his room with Saba blissfully stretched out next to him. _In his spot._ She stares at him, her thin green eyes challenging him, yawns, and stretches again, like one of those big, fat, lazy cats in those nature documentaries. She takes up an inordinate amount of space despite possessing such a tiny body. Apparently, she thinks herself bigger than she actually is. 

Haruka, however, doesn’t let her have her way. This is _his_ apartment. _His_ bed. And  _his_ Makoto. 

“Saba, no,” Haruka grabs her and places her on the floor, shooing her toward her cat bed. “You have your own bed.” He slips under the comforter, already warm with Makoto’s exquisite body heat.

“Aw. She just wants to be next to you. I understand the feeling,” Makoto murmurs with half-lidded eyes. 

He can actually feel his heart drumming frantically against his ribs. It’s official: Makoto really is trying to give him an aneurysm. He isn’t playing fair and Haruka is utterly powerless against his charms. _Damn him._

“Makoto…” Haruka doesn’t even know what to say to that — Makoto has always had the capacity to render him speechless — he just needed to say something. Makoto’s name is as good as any. He likes Makoto’s name. He likes the way it sounds and the way his tongue curls around the syllables, almost caressingly. 

The bed dips, the sheets and blanket rustling when Makoto moves to lie on his side. “Hey, Haru?” His voice is low and soothing. Like he wants to tell him a long kept secret. 

He rolls over, coming face to face with Makoto. _This could be it_ , Haruka thinks, _tell me you like me_ , he encourages Makoto mentally.

“I…”

_Like you_ , he tries to will Makoto to say the words. 

Haruka notices the way Makoto bites his lip. He’s so close, but instead, much to his disappointment, Makoto asks, “Do you remember when we were younger and we’d sleep in the backyard, under the stars?”

He remembers it vividly; remembers a time from before Makoto grew bigger and taller than him and _before_ the twins were born. He loves Ran and Ren, but before the twins, he and Makoto would lie quietly under the twinkling summer night sky, pointing out various constellations, telling myths and stories of how they came to be while clutching each other, and whispering childish secrets to each other. When Ran and Ren were old enough to join them, they’d often pepper them with questions until they exhausted themselves and passed out between them, and the gentle quietness became lost to time. 

Haruka’s eyes already adjusted to the dark and they quickly find Makoto’s. “What about it?”

Makoto picks at the edge of his pillowcase, averting his eyes, and voice low and trembling — as if he were afraid he’d break the atmosphere. “I wish… I wish we could do that now. Sharing it with you… I think it’ll be beautiful, don’t you?” 

He does. He really, really does. Any time spent with Makoto is. “You can’t see the stars in Tokyo, Makoto,” he carefully points out. He’s not actively trying to ruin the moment, it’s just the truth. Tokyo is too damn bright, the lights drown out the brilliance of the stars in the night sky. 

Haruka feels him sigh. “I know…” Makoto concedes sadly.

“But…” he interjects immediately, grasping his elbow gently so that Makoto knows that he’s sincere, because he doesn’t want Makoto to think that he’s not amenable to partaking in such a thing. “Maybe the next time we’re in Iwatobi, we can do that.” 

Makoto’s tired eyes shoot up in a flash, meeting his own eager eyes. “Really?” Even in the cover of darkness, he can see the way the specks of gold in Makoto’s forest green eyes light up in excitement. 

His heart stutters joyfully at Makoto’s enthusiasm. He hums, nodding, “Really. We’ll sneak out after the twins go to sleep. It’ll be just us again.” 

The bed shifts once more with Makoto lying on his back again, his hand fisting the hem of the creamy yellow and orange shirt, but his face still turned towards him, with a barely lucid, content smile. “I’d really like that, Haru-chan,” he whispers sleepily into the darkness. 

“Me too.” Noticing Makoto’s eyes getting droopier, Haruka pulls the comforter higher, tucking him in. He’s quick to fall asleep, his face tranquil and stress-free. In that very moment, Haruka decides that he’ll tell him soon because there’s so much he wants to say and do. Haruka snuggles deeper into the blankets, he doesn’t think Makoto will mind, and curls closer to Makoto’s scorching heat. “Good night, Makoto.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Oh, be fair now, Haru. Sousuke hasn’t brooded in a long time now! He just has a broody demeanor.  
> 2Sousuke was right, these two really are something else.
> 
> Clearly, Haru and Makoto have differing opinions on the affections that Saba holds for the other. Little do they know, they’re both right. That little shit knows exactly what she’s doing. 
> 
> Oh Haru, you’ve always sought contact from Makoto. You’re just conscious of it now. 
> 
> Good lord, the flirting has gotten out of control. 
> 
> Yes, yes, yes, everyone needs to confess to each other. So why don’t you _stop dicking around and do it already_? Ugh, these two are driving me crazy.


	13. Do You Not Know How to Fold Bed Sheets?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _OH, MY GOD, SOMEONE IS TRYING TO BREAK INTO HIS APARTMENT!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it’s been over a month since I last updated this. Sorry!
> 
> As an apology (and as a big thank you for your patience), here is a longer than usual chapter! Along with something a little… _extra_ , wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

His head swims with thoughts only of the man kneeling between his thighs. He arches into him, desperately seeking for even more contact. His fingers curl into his dark, silky hair, cradling the back of his head, and encouraging him to take him deeper. The hot and wet suction of his mouth driving him higher and higher. With hallowed cheeks and an enthusiastic tongue, he quickly draws closer to the precipice.

He groans, his voice too husky and sounding foreign even to his own ears. The mouth pulls back, forcing a whiny whimper from him. The tongue, however, stays stubbornly attached to his cock. It curls over and around the sensitive head, pushing the foreskin back. A warm hand closes over the rest of his erection, stroking him teasingly.

He gasps lowly, begging for more; begging for faster and harder; begging for him to stop teasing. A pair of familiar eyes peer up at him, the blues grinning mischievously. The tip of his tongue gently probes his leaking slit, and the pleasurable pressure in his balls coils, reaching its breaking point when…

He’s unceremoniously jarred awake when his back slams onto the hard, cold, unforgiving floors, the back of his head knocking against the grainy surface. He squeezes his eyes shut, his vision clouded with spots due to the fall. Groaning, he sluggishly pushes himself up and the simple act makes his bones ache, as if he were some decrepit old geezer. Throwing his head back, he rests against the couch as he tries to catch his breath.

He sighs in exasperation at having fallen asleep while studying on the couch. _Again_. It’s starting to become an unwanted and annoying habit. It was made worse by the surprise wet dream. It’s been a while since he had one and it had ceased being a nightly occurrence. And it’s been even longer since he had that particular fantasy.

He stays there for a while, collecting his thoughts and waiting for the sharp, painful ache in his shoulder to dull. Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he glares at his crotch, the bulge still very much there and still very much aching for attention. Thankful that he landed on his back instead of his more sensitive front side when he rolled off the couch, he tries to ignore the throbbing between his legs.

He was so close but he supposes that it’s better than waking up with his flannels soaked with come. _Small favors_ , he thinks wryly. Still, he’s left incredibly unsatisfied.

 _Tomorrow_ , he promises himself. He’ll confess to Haruka tomorrow. Because this? This is unsustainable. And it has gone on for way too long.

Exhaling, he slowly climbs to his feet, shuffling toward the hall to haul himself into bed but the sound of his front door knob jiggling stops him cold. He slowly turns his head toward the noise, hoping that maybe he was just hearing things but the blood and color drains from his face. He isn’t hearing things.

 _Someone is trying to break in_ 1! He always knew something like this would happen one day! _Shit_.

 _Shit_!

Reaching down, he grabs the first thing his hand comes in contact with and tentatively wraps his fingers around it. He swallows nervously, his mouth growing increasingly dry while thick beads of sweat form at his temple. He can hear his heart beat a hundred million kilometers per hour, can feel the blood rushing in his ears — or is it the other way around? He can’t tell because  _OH, MY GOD, SOMEONE IS TRYING TO BREAK INTO HIS APARTMENT!_

The door finally cracks open so he brings the object he’s brandishing as a weapon and swings it down toward the intruder. He realizes far too late that it’s not an intruder at all. Well, technically, he _is_ an intruder, but at least he’s not here to burgle and/or murder him. Not that he knows of anyway.

The technically-but-not-really-an-intruder brings his arms up to block the attack but his weapon is already crashing down on top of him. “Makoto—! What?”

“Haru!” Makoto squeaks in horror. “I’m so sorry! I thought you were a burglar!”

Haruka levels him with a disbelieving glare. “So you, what, thought you could defend yourself with a child’s kick-board?”

He looks at his makeshift weapon and frowns. It’s the kick-board Nagisa gave him as a going-away/congratulations-on-being-accepted-to-a-university! gift a couple of years ago. It was specially customized with a cartoonish representation of the Iwatobi swim team; an orca, a rockhopper penguin, a butterfly, and a dolphin emblazoned colorfully on the foam. As one could imagine, Rin was very bitter at being left out. Makoto ended up slapping a shark sticker on it in order to placate him.

Haruka smooths out his hair, disheveled from the kerfuffle. “How did you expect to fight me off with that if I really were a burglar?” he glares at the board with skepticism.

In his embarrassment, he carelessly tosses the foam board on the couch like a hot potato. “You scared me!” he says instead.

“You scared me,” Haruka shoots back.

Blinking in disbelief, taken aback by the non-defense. And also, this is his apartment! “Who broke into who’s apartment?”

“I have a key,” Haruka dangles his copy of the key on his dolphin key chain. “I didn’t break in.”

Makoto huffs, that hardly exonerates Haruka of scaring the living hell out of him. “Maybe not in the literal sense, but… You should have called!”

Haruka nods at the discarded kick-board, “You were sleeping.” He does a quick once over at him. He must look like a mess because, “Clearly,” Haruka scoffs.

They stare at each other for a bit, refusing to back down from their respective points. Haruka finally breaks eye contact, turning away, and focuses his attention at the door. The door locks with a quiet click and Haruka shuffles away from the entryway after slipping out of his shoes.

He follows Haruka deeper into the apartment, accepting Haruka’s presence with ease. “Haru? What are you doing here?” Makoto rubs the back of his head in confusion.

Haruka stops and shrugs, “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs quietly.

“Oh?” he cocks his head with concern.

“Strange dream, I guess,” Haruka mumbles, not really looking to share.

Still, he knows a thing or two about that. “…Do you want to talk about it?” he offers anyway.

Haruka pauses, mulling it over before ultimately shaking his head, “Not particularly.”

“I… Okay.” He knows better than to pursue something Haruka has no interest in elaborating on.

He glances at the colorful, vinyl LP turned clock hanging on the wall and finally realizes that Haruka is standing in his apartment in the middle of the night. It’s 1:30 in the morning and the trains stop running at midnight. That means—

“Haru!” he gapes in disapproval, “Did you _walk_  all the way here?"

Haruka shrugs, “Yeah, so?”

Makoto sputters in disbelief. “It’s the middle of the night! You should have called me! I would have gone over to your apartment instead!”

With a lopsided frown and downturned brows, Haruka challenges, “How is _you_ walking to _my_ apartment in the middle of the night any better than _me_ walking to _your_ apartment in the middle of the night?”

Makoto has no defense for his logic. “It just is!”

Haruka’s eyes narrow in annoyance. “Why?” he asks again, not willing to let him get away with such childish declarations without merit.

“Because you’re… and I…” Why can’t Haruka see how dangerous walking alone in the middle of the night is? How could he be so careless? “Don’t argue with me!”

Haruka’s foot connects with his shin and he scowls, “That’s not fair. I can take care of myself.”

It’s not a matter of whether he can take care of himself or not; he knows that Haruka’s perfectly capable. It’s a matter of being put in a situation where the possibility of him needing to defend himself in the first place that exists. Rubbing his shin petulantly, he grumbles, “Haru.”

Haruka briefly glares at him before glancing away, “It doesn’t matter. I’m already here. Nothing happened and everything is fine.” He shimmies out of his coat and tosses it on the abandoned couch. 

Makoto shoulders slumps in resignation or dismay or possibly, annoyance. He gives up on furthering the argument but then he notices Haruka’s clothing. “Did you walk here in your pajamas?!” They’re not really pajamas; they’re sweats but they’re not the sweats that Haruka usually wears out of the house. That makes them pajamas.

Haruka shrugs again, “Didn’t feel like changing.”

He stamps his foot, exasperated with Haruka’s lack of care. They’re not in Iwatobi anymore. His house isn’t a flight of stairs away anymore. It’s at least a forty-five minute walk from his apartment! In the frigid cold!

“Haru! Do you know how cold it is?!” Instinctively, he reaches out to touch Haruka’s cheeks. He flinches and retracts his hand at the contact. “You’re freezing!” He yanks the fleece blanket buried under the pillows and drapes it over Haruka’s shoulders. “Honestly, Haru, what I am going to do with you?” he grumbles under his breath.

Seeing that the thin blanket is having no affect — nor does Haruka make any effort on warming himself up — he impulsively pulls Haruka into his arms. He rubs his arms, trying to restore warmth and circulation to his body but then he’s bombarded with the faint scent of chlorine.

 _Smells so good_ … He nearly buries his nose into Haruka’s dark, silky strands.

_Oh, shit._

_Shit. Too close._

Makoto moves to pull away but Haruka curls his arms around him, nuzzling his cheek into his neck. He stiffens at the action, twitching when the hot breath drifts over his collarbone from Haruka’s content sigh. He holds his breath and wonders if Haruka could hear the hammering in his heart. Because he sure as hell can feel it pounding.

They stay like that for several moments, unmoving, until Haruka gently squeezes his midsection between his forearms and twists his hands into the back of his shirt, fisting the well-worn fabric between his slender fingers. Makoto releases a quivering breath and swallows roughly, debating whether or not to return the embrace. Throwing caution to the wind, he carefully curls his arms around Haruka, nuzzling his cheek against his temple. He almost sneezes when Haruka’s soft hair tickles his nose. 

Haruka sighs again, one of approval, and re-nuzzles himself against his jaw and throat so that his head fills the space between his neck and shoulder. Feeling emboldened by Haruka’s decidedly affectionate cuddling, he indulges in his earlier desire and rubs his nose in Haruka’s hair. He inhales deeply at the fresh, invigorating citrus of his shampoo mingled in with the harsh chlorine.

He licks at his dry lips, trying to conjure sufficient saliva so his voice doesn’t crack. “Haru?” he croaks with great difficultly.

Without his permission, his pulse stutters erratically. He loses control over most of his body and he nearly chokes on his tongue when Haruka’s warm lips brushes delicately against the trembling column of his throat at his breathy, “Yeah?”

“I…” He tries swallowing again but the lump in his throat persists, “I’m not crazy, right?” His knuckles shakily graze Haruka’s shoulder blades and he expels a tense breath. “I mean, you feel it too, right? That… That things are changing. …With us.” His fingers clench around the fleece anxiously, “It… Please tell me it’s not just me, Haru.”

His quiet pleas sound desperate even to him; he can’t imagine what they must sound like to Haruka. Haruka shifts, his grasp on his shirt tightening as he hides his face in his broad shoulder, and murmurs indistinctly. He deciphers it easily enough and he doesn’t need to have it repeated but… well, he _needs_ to have it repeated.

“Haru?” his voice shaky — tentative and exuberant.

Haruka turns his head and exhales, mumbling quietly, but clearly, into his neck, “It’s not just you.” He looks up at him, his eyes twinkling in a delight that is usually reserved for when he’s presented with a large body of water. “I was right then. You…”

He chokes out a shaky breath, “I do.” His body shudders with relief and delirious laughter, “Haru, I do.” He tightens his grip around Haruka, “So, so much.” 

“Hm,” a pleased Haruka hums, gently stroking his back in a reassuring manner. “Good.”

His delirium is back and Makoto can’t stop the hysterical giggles from bubbling up his throat, “You… You have no idea how…”

He becomes caught in Haruka’s intent gaze, his heart fluttering at a pace that doesn’t quite feel normal — honestly, it doesn’t quite feel healthy — when he realizes that Haruka has been quietly observing him with curious, earnest eyes. As if he were trying to sear the moment into his memory. Decades of friendship and he’s never seen Haruka look as happy and joyful as he does in this moment; not even when he looks at water. It’s breathtaking and it leaves him speechless. Shyly, he bites his lip harshly, which, Haruka doesn’t seem to like very much judging by the low _tsk_ being aimed at him. So instead, he unconsciously licks his swollen lip, and twists his fingers at the hem of Haruka’s sweatshirt.

“Haru, I…” he stutters, his voice full of excitement and nervous energy.

“I like you, Makoto,” without uncertainty, Haruka fills in his pause, being as blunt as always.

 _Oh, now that’s just not fair_. He resolved to tell Haruka and he’s stealing his thunder by confessing first. He can’t be too mad though; he can’t deny what it does to him. He can feel the loony, obnoxious smile breaking out over his lips.

His green eyes flit to meet Haruka’s striking, deep blue eyes and softly smiles, “I like you, Haru.”

 _Like_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. He loves this man. Has always loved this man as a friend and will continue to love him as a friend and more for as long as he’ll be allowed to.

Haruka’s straight lips curves into the small smile. “I know,” he notes with satisfaction.

“You… you do?” Delirium made him ask that. So, so delirious.

In true Haruka fashion, he arches an amused eyebrow; he’s smiling even if his face is just as impassive as it usually is. He points back and forth between them, “We are having the same conversation, right?”

“Right. Sorry… I just… My brain isn’t…” His brain really isn’t fully functioning. It’s a jumbled, muddled, disorganized — and did he mention delirious? — mess.

“Clearly,” Haruka glances sideways with a smirk.

 _Mean_. But Makoto can’t find it in himself to call Haruka out on it. He does pinch his side playfully though.

“I mean, I _like_ you-like you.” He whispers cautiously, afraid that if he spoke any louder, he’d discover that this is all a dream and the fantasy will shatter into a million pieces.

Haruka’s eyebrow twitches again. “I _like_ you-like you too,” he over enunciates as if he were speaking to a child. Which, granted, he might as well be considering that the current hold he has on his cognitive abilities is tenuous as best.  

“As in, _romantically_ ,” he clarifies again.

Haruka nods slowly, his eyes glistening in barely suppressed glee. “Yes, Makoto, I got that.”

Makoto squeezes him lightly, a blush blooming on his face because he can’t believe that he’s actually saying the words. “Like, I want to _kiss_ you-romantically-like you.”

“Makoto…”

But Makoto interrupts him to explain, before he loses his nerve. “I just… I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings or misinterpretations or confusion. And I just want to make sure that I’m not dreaming this whole thing up. I want you.” He knows he’s being pushy, possibly a little selfish, but he rarely allows himself to indulge in this type of behavior so just this once should be okay, right? “I want to be with you. I want to kiss you and touch you and… I just… I _want_ you.”

Haruka’s mirth fades considerably, his eyes soften, seemingly understanding his apprehension. That maybe, he’s had similar doubts. Haruka gently takes his hands, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his knuckles.

He murmurs firmly, “You’re not dreaming. I like you, Makoto,  _like_ you-like you. _Romantically_ -like you. I want to _kiss_ you-like you. And do other things with you-like you. All the things you want, I want them too. Every last thing. Does that clear things up?”

Makoto flushes (because ‘ _other things_?’ It’s pretty obvious what other things entail) but grins like a fool nonetheless, “Clearer than the ocean on a bright summer day.”

Haruka snorts blithely, “Water analogies? Really?”

Makoto doesn’t let his teasing get to him. Instead, he glibly counters, “I’ve been know to make a few. Like when it’s about your eyes.”

Haruka does a double take in embarrassment — _ha! Take that!_

“Makoto—” his voice flustered and terse.

“May I kiss you?” Makoto cuts in before Haruka could admonish him for being sappy.

Haruka visibly perks up at the request. “What took you so long to ask that?”

He can’t help but tease, “Is that a yes?”

Haruka, however, isn’t impressed as he rolls his eyes, “I didn’t say all that for a no, Makoto. Of course it’s a yes, you-”

Haruka doesn’t finish because Makoto can’t wait anymore; by his estimation, he’s waited long enough. He cups Haruka’s face in his hands and captures Haruka’s lips with his own. His lips are a bit cracked, scratching and scraping against his own but it’s gentle and warm and chaste. The kiss is exceedingly tender as there’s no rush for more, satisfied with the contact and just _feeling_ each other, but it still leaves him buzzing.

It’s cautious and hesitant, but he pours all his love and adoration for Haruka into this one kiss, wanting to convey just how precious he is to him. His nerves ignite and flare as he feels Haruka sigh, reciprocating in kind. And everything feels _right_ , as if this is where he belongs, where he’s meant to be.

They reluctantly part, lungs burning for air. He doesn’t know how long their lips were pressed together, but it felt like hours. His ears are ringing, his heart is pounding faster than a jackhammer, and his head feels dizzy.

Makoto rests his forehead against Haruka’s, his breathing still shallow. “That was my first kiss,” he confides with a whisper, a small smile touching his lips.

Haruka’s eyes flutter shut and he nuzzles against his cheek. “Mine too.” Makoto figured as much but it doesn’t stop him from grinning like a madman at the knowledge. Haruka lifts his head and gives him a stern look, “I better be your only kiss.”

Is Haruka implying what he thinks he’s implying? That Haruka intends for this is to be a forever type of arrangement? Because he has absolutely zero objections with that. Makoto feels his heart exploding with delirium and fuzzy feelings all over again.

“Only if I’m yours too.” Pressing his forehead against Haruka’s again, he sighs contently. “I want all my firsts to be with you, Haru.”

Haruka nods, murmuring so low that he had to strain to hear it, “Me too.”

Makoto gives him a wry chuckle, “I didn’t think you’d be interested in romantic relationships with anyone.”

Haruka shrugs noncommittally, “I’m not.”

Makoto straightens up, taken aback and baffled all over again. “Oh. But… H-Har—?”

“Makoto isn’t just anyone.” Haruka patiently explains with a look of _duh_ aimed at him.

“Oh… Haru…” Nanase Haruka definitely isn’t good for his heart health. Not when he says such sweet things so earnestly. “I’d like to kiss you again… May I?”

Haruka sighs with a playful eye roll. “You asked that already.”

“I’m asking again.” Makoto explains with a bright smile.

Instead of answering, Haruka tilts his head back, inviting him into the kiss. Weaving his hands into his hair, Haruka gently pulls him down to meet him. Their height difference isn’t as pronounced as it once was, but Haruka still has to push up onto his toes to press against him firmly. Whereas their first kiss was hesitant and shy, one of longing and relief, this kiss is full of heat and desire with an ache for more.

Haruka pulls away, just a fraction, his breath glancing against his swollen lips as he quietly pants. “Can I touch you?” he asks, his voice shaky and eyes dazed.

“God, yes,” he wheezes harshly. Honestly, Haruka doesn’t even need to ask. Makoto, on the other hand, wants to die of embarrassment as the words leave his mouth, but he forces them out because they’re crucially important. “May I touch you?”

Haruka huffs a low laugh,“I insist that you do,” he replies with a challenging smirk.

One of Haruka’s hands drifts down to his front, his open palms soothing and caressing his racing chest. Haruka stares, seemingly entranced with the way his deft fingers dance over his muscles with interest. Haruka tilts his head back, seeking his lips again, and he obliges, dipping head down to meet him halfway. His own hands slide down Haruka’s back, across his hips, stroking his sides before settling on his ass. Haruka gasps in surprise, breaking off the kiss.

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks hurriedly, hoping he didn’t make Haruka uncomfortable.

Haruka said he could touch him but it didn’t mean he could _molest_ his ass. Makoto snatches his hands away, as if burned, ready to retreat to whatever dark corner Haruka banishes him to, but Haruka stops him, guiding his hands back to his ass.

“It’s okay, Makoto. You just startled me,” Haruka murmurs a little breathlessly. “I like it.”

“You… You do?” Makoto asks timidly.

All that’s needed is the coy smirk (how in the world does Haruka manage to make a smirk look coy, he’ll never know, but he does) he gets in return. They come together again, their lips fusing together hungrily. It’s far from graceful, their inexperience made painfully (literally) obvious as their noses get in the way and teeth clash. He wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world though. Because he’s actually kissing Haruka. And Haruka is kissing him! All he’s been able to think about for the past month is happening right in his arms.

Haruka’s hands eagerly slide over his back, his fingers lingering in the dips and grooves between muscles. Red, hot flames lick at his nerves, patiently waiting for… _something_. Emboldened by Haruka’s actions, he gently squeezes the rounded swell of his ass. A moan is shared, it vibrates around his mouth but he isn’t sure if it was from him or Haruka. It doesn’t really make a difference who it came from because it only encourages him further. Makoto pulls him closer, not willing to leave any space between their bodies.

Haruka, always the braver one, pushes against his boundaries. He flicks his tongue experimentally, swiping at his swollen lips, asking for entrance. He eagerly grants it, parting his mouth just enough for Haruka to slip his tongue in. Everything turns hot, wet, and humid when their tongues meet, timidly stroking each other in a gentle greeting. Carefully, he slides his own into Haruka’s parted lips, the tip of his tongue tickling the roof of his mouth, and licking his gums.

Haruka seems to enjoy it as his hold tightens, pulling him closer still. Makoto stumbles at the tugging, and guides Haruka toward the wall, and using it to hold them up. They finally break apart, not of their own volition, but because air is desperately needed. Haruka’s cheeks are red, his lips swollen, his chest rising rapidly as he draws breath, and his eyes glazed over. It’s an arousing and intoxicating sight, and better than anything his imagination could possibly dream up. He wonders if he looks the same to Haruka.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Makoto pants against his lips.

Haruka’s tongue darts out, licking his lips. “Yeah, me too.”

He swipes his thumb gently over Haruka’s reddened lips. He laughs breathlessly, “And here I thought you wouldn’t be interested in something like this.”

Haruka shrugs and concedes, “It’s a fairly recent development.”

He rubs his nose against Haruka’s ear, murmuring curiously, “How recent?”

Haruka cocks his head to the side, giving him access to the rest of his neck. Makoto nips at the long column, humming happily at the vibrations beneath his lips from Haruka’s low moans; and smiling even wider knowing that he’s the cause of such delightful sounds.

“Since last week,” Haruka gasps as he suckles at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meets.

“Really?” Makoto pulls up, but not away, and stares at the mark that is quickly blossoming on his otherwise pale skin. That certainly explains a few things. He shoots him an amused smile, “You know, I thought you were being flirty but I figured it was just wishful thinking.”

“I wasn’t interested in any of this,” Haruka admits quietly. “I never actively thought about it. It always seemed so… troublesome.” His eyes narrow, brows furrowed down, “But then _you kissed me_ ,” his tone accusatory.

Makoto groans in dismay, abandoning his ministrations. His head drops against his shoulder, his gut clenching with dread. He apologizes for his behavior, “I am _so_ sorry.”

Tender, calming fingers rub at his scalp, curling into his hair, and draws his head up. “What for?”

Makoto whines, lamenting the way he acted. Not so much for the kiss itself, but for the implusiveness — for doing it without asking. “I didn’t… I mean, I just _kissed_ you. Without thinking _and_ without _permission_! Who does that?!? 2” he groans sullenly.

Haruka presses his palm against his chest, stroking it soothingly. “It’s fine, Makoto. I didn’t mind it.”

“But…”

“I know you would have asked if you could re-do things. But I’m glad you did it,” Haruka loops his arms over his shoulders. “My head might still be buried in the sand if you didn’t.” 

Makoto purses his lips sheepishly, “I was actually going to confess to you tomorrow. Well, today, I guess.”

“You were?” Haruka shifts against the hard wall. His fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck and tilts his head inquisitively. “How long have you known?”

“I think I’ve known for a long time… I just didn’t admit until recently.” he answers vaguely.

“How recent?” Haruka warns, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

His fingers combs his hair back, out of his eyes. “I guess it’s been three, four… weeks?” Makoto’s voice meekly dips, his lips twisting into a guilty, pained curl.

Haruka’s eyes widen in astonishment. “A _month_?”

Makoto quickly assures him, not wanting Haruka to think he was keeping secrets from him. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, I swear. I always planned on telling you — always. I just didn’t know how. But… you know how I am…” he trails off somberly.

It doesn’t placate him, Haruka scowls in displeasure. “You mean we could have been doing this sooner if it weren’t for the overthinking?”

“Your friendship is the most important thing to me. If you didn’t feel the same… I didn’t want to do something rash that would jeopardize that.” It’s rote. The explanation falls flat, like a bad TV trope.

Haruka’s nose flares with irritation. “Do you really think that I’d stop being friends with you — stop caring — just because you have feelings for me?”

“Of course I don’t think that!” Makoto is horrified by the mere suggestion.

“It sounds like it. I’ll always want you in my life, Makoto; no matter what,” Haruka insists, his voice forceful and unwavering.

“I know,” Makoto hurriedly assures. He is not doing a good job of explaining himself. “Haru, I would never doubt that. I just didn’t want to push you into something that you weren’t ready for.”

Haruka sighs. Makoto can tell that any fight he had in him deflates with the way his shoulders slump against the wall. “You know, I wanted to tell you as soon as I realized but… I’m not good at this,” he gestures, meaning conversation.

“You seem just fine now,” Makoto points out in a joking manner.

“Because I’m annoyed,” Haruka snaps back, unamused with his attempt at levity.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Makoto pinches his lips shut, feeling thoroughly chastised.

With a sigh, Haruka leans against the wall, eyes averted off to the side. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m not _that_ annoyed.”

“Do… Do you think you would have accepted it if I told you earlier?” he asks with a nervous hitch in his voice.

After some thought, Haruka admits truthfully with a begrudging pout, “I don’t know.” He looks down at his hands, twisted in the front of his shirt, “You know, last week, when I told you that I was working on things?” Makoto gives him a hesitant nod. “This is what I meant. I was working _this_ out. I knew things had been changing between us for months but it was sort of in the background. I didn’t think about what it meant. Or rather, I didn’t _want_ to think about what it meant. Because it meant things were changing and I wasn’t ready for things to change. But the kiss… I couldn’t ignore it anymore.” Haruka takes a deep breath, and he takes one of his own, “Makoto, our friendship… it’s always been so easy and comfortable. And when you cross a line, it’s not something you can undo or unsay but… if it’s you, I don’t mind it. You make me want to try. It’s scary and I get a little nauseous thinking about it but it’s exciting too. Because I’ll be with you.”

For someone who insists that he’s terrible at talking, Haruka sure has a way with words. Sure, there were long pauses and thoughts were fragmented and some were left unfinished but he understood what he meant.

“Haru…” Makoto stops to think. If Haruka can be so open and honest with him, then so can he. It’s the least he could do. “I think I’ve always kind of knew… I just never put it into words. But once I put a name to it, everything kind of fell into place. Like why my heart beats a little faster whenever I see you. Or why I always feel so warm — like the sun is hugging me — whenever you smile at me. Or why my insides turn to jelly whenever you say my name. Or why whenever I’m upset or sad, just looking at you or hearing the sound of your voice makes me me again. I spent a lot of the past month deciding how to tell you and every time I think I figured it out, or that I come close, I’d get distracted because I kind of just… I was selfish,” Makoto confesses, finally understanding why he dragged his feet for so long. It wasn’t because he was worried that Haruka wouldn’t return his feelings, it was because he wanted to hold on to those feelings for a little bit longer in case he didn’t. “I wanted to bask in how you make me feel.”

Haruka’s fist curls in his shirt tighter, tugging him forward. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he warns huskily.

His eyes widen with surprise. Makoto doesn’t need words to understand that he’s probably overwhelmed Haruka with excessive cheese and sap. He understands that Haruka needs to **_do_** something with his emotions; that he needs an outlet — a physical outlet.

He nods, “I’d really like that.”

This kiss is gentler than the previous ones by several magnitudes, the rush of lust dampened by their emotional confessions. While it’s not as frenzied as the earlier ones, it’s still arousing and full of heat. It’s also much more polished; heads tilted slightly to avoid smashing into one another. They quickly learn and adjust to the other’s movements and rhythms, angling themselves for the most optimal contact. The languid, intimate exploration of swollen lips move slowly together in a quiet dance. Curious tongues meeting again and again, probing the warm features of each other’s mouths.

Heat curls low in his belly as Haruka’s gentle hands drift down and then snaking under his shirt. His fingers dance over his bare stomach, muscles tense with anticipation, and making his skin tingle and prickle in excitement. There’s a heady sigh from Haruka and a moan from him that’s exchanged between them. He tunnels his fingers into Haruka’s silky hair, massaging his scalp, and tipping his head back, coaxing his tongue to twine with his.

He feels the soft whimper from Haruka and he eagerly swallows the sound, wanting to bottle it up, wanting to memorize every single sound Haruka makes. Haruka surges up on his toes, pushing and pulling against him. Makoto lets his momentum fall forward, trapping Haruka between his chest and the wall. The feel of Haruka’s body isn’t like anything he’s ever experienced. It’s hotter than he imagined, harder than he thought.

There’s a substantial and familiar weight growing between his legs. His brain frizzles out when he realizes that he’s hard — harder than he’s ever been before — all because of this impromptu make-out session. Before he can stop himself, his clumsy hips involuntarily jerks forward, pressing his cock against Haruka’s thigh.

_Fuck, it feels so good._

Makoto sputters, horrified by his lack of control, and tears himself away from Haruka. “I’m sor-”

Makoto doesn’t finish his apology because Haruka pulls him down for another quick kiss. “What are you so embarrassed about?” Haruka’s hands drifts even lower, cupping his ass. He lines them up and rolls his hips against his own. He gasps, his head falling forward as his ragged pants fill the room. Haruka nips at his Adam’s apple. “Don’t apologize. I’m hard too,” he murmurs, his voice strained and hoarse.

That coupled with Haruka’s heavy lidded gaze… is  _so. fucking. hot._

Makoto’s eyes dart down, as if feeling Haruka hard against him wasn’t enough, a noticeable tent pulling at the front of his sweatpants serves as visual proof of Haruka’s equally aroused state.

He wants to hide in embarrassment but Haruka doesn’t let him; is adamant that they continue to rub against each other, grinding their erections together. Despite the intensity of their arousal, there’s no rush; it’s a slow and careful exploration, testing what feels good and what doesn’t. Honestly, everything feels good and if it feels this good rutting like this, he can’t imagine what it’ll be like without the layers of clothing.

The air turns thick, heavy, and humid, making him desperate for air. Makoto hikes one of Haruka’s legs over his hip, rocking their hard-ons together. He slowly (achingly so) drags his cock along Haruka’s, causing Haruka to gasp audibly in his mouth. The thin flannel of his bottoms starts to cling to him, the stickiness of his pre-come bleeding through the material, and darkening the fabric.

Thick, calloused fingers move under Haruka’s shirt, lovingly trailing up his ribs, and catching a hardened nipple. The touch coaxes a raspy, guttural moan from Haruka’s throat. With his head thrown back against the wall with a dull thump, Haruka arches into him in search of more friction.

“Makoto,” Haruka whimpers in a harsh pant.

Haruka has said his name in a lot of different ways over the years (and depending on the tone and inflection, they mean different things) but, _fuck_ , he thinks, never like this. He desperately wants Haruka to keep saying his name exactly like that. He rolls his hips, meeting Haruka’s groin insistently. Their covered shafts growing hotter and thicker each time they come together. If they don’t stop now, his — and Haruka’s — cocks are going to burst. And as appealing as that sounds, he isn’t sure if he’s mentally prepared for a coming Haruka.

“Haru-chan… Maybe…” Makoto swallows with difficulty, his eyes clouding over with lust, and his head drowning in a fuzzy haze. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Slow down? For what?” Haruka breathlessly protests, his pupils blown, the blues disappearing from his eyes as they grow dark with arousal. His head lolls against the wall weakly, his cheeks red with warmth.

“I…” Enraptured by the sight of Haruka writhing against him, he shakes his head, he was saying something. “Don’t you think we’re moving too fast?”

“Too fast?” Haruka lifts a disbelieving eyebrow, “So you want to slow down, and what? Get to know one another?”

“Haruuuu,” he whines woefully. Haruka is making fun of him.

The corner of his swollen lips quirk upward, “Would you like to know my favorite color?”

Yep, Haruka is definitely making fun. _Jerk_.

Makoto pinches his side in displeasure, “There’s no need to be such a butthole, Haru.”

“Or… maybe my hobbies?” he questions with a teasing grin.

Makoto tries his best to glare at him but there’s absolutely zero heat behind it. “Okay, this stopped being cute two seconds ago.”

But Haruka continues to goad him, “How about where I’m fr-”

Makoto crashes his lips into Haruka’s, stopping whatever it was he was going to say. Pulling away, he scowls at him, “You’re not funny, Haru-chan.”

“Drop the -chan,” he mumbles with a fond smile. Haruka sighs quietly, “Well, you wanted to slow down?” Haruka slumps against the wall and glances down at their crotches, still hard but no longer raging with hormones. “I think we’re slowed down.”

“Haru!” he sputters in laughter. “You have a twisted sense of humor.”

He lets out an amused scoff, “Hardly. I’m just telling the truth.” Haruka sighs in faux disappointment, “Well, if we’re not doing this…” Haruka straightens up and slides out from underneath his body. Taking his hand, he leads him to his bedroom. “It’s late. I’m tired.”

“’kay.” Makoto happily trails after him. He can barely believe that this is actually happening.

Haruka finally drops his hand when they reach his bedroom. He takes an incredulous look at the mess he calls a bed, and glances at him. He gestures to his naked mattress, “Where are your bed sheets?”

“Oh, right. I just did laundry. Hold on.” He throws open the closet, grabs the first pair of sheets at the top, and hands them to Haruka.

Haruka doesn’t take it though, instead glaring at it with distaste. “What is this?”

He cocks his head, questioning, “What do you mean?”

Haruka eyes the crumpled bundle with disapproval. “Do you not know how to fold bed sheets?”

In his mirth, Makoto snorts. “No one knows how to fold fitted sheets, Haru.”

With a delicate raise of an eyebrow, Haruka drolly challenges, “Really? No one?” he asks in his usual deadpan but it’s sardonic and full of sarcasm. 

Haruka proceeds to prove him wrong. He snatches the sheets from his hands and smooths out the wrinkles. Flipping the sheet inside out, he lays it flat on the bed. He then quickly matches the corners together and folds it until it’s a neat little rectangle before presenting him with the finished product.

He stares, in sheer awe of the fact that Haruka can fold a fitted sheet. “You’re a warlock!” he whispers in astonishment.

Haruka shakes his head in amusement and shoves the sheets into his arms. “Just put the sheets on. I’m going to pee.”

His lips pucker in confusion, “These?”

Haruka raises a bemused eyebrow, “…Yes?”

“But… We just folded these! It’s all neat and stuff.” It seems like a waste to undo all that work.

Haruka simply snorts at his, admittedly silly, distress. “They’re just sheets, Makoto, it’s not a big deal.” Haruka swipes a fresh pair of gym shorts on his way out.

He pouts petulantly, “Fine.”

Reluctantly, he unravels the sheet and tucks it into the corners of the mattress. He straightens the rest of the bed — pillows and comforter. He also changes into a fresh pair of bottoms — the flannels from before are a lost cause — and dives under the covers. He’s already tucked in when Haruka returns.

Haruka stops at the foot of the bed and frowns. “We’re not going to fit.”

“Of course we will,” he smiles with confidence.

Haruka pinches the bridge of his nose, “Makoto, this bed wasn’t designed to fit two human beings, much less two grown _men_. It’s not meant to support our combined weight.”

“It’ll be fine,” Makoto insists, waving off his worries, “Turn off the lights.”

“Makoto,” Haruka frowns with skepticism.

“Trust me,” he smiles, his hand outstretched, and emerald green eyes sparkling imploringly.

Haruka sighs, caving to his wheedling, “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if it breaks down in the middle of the night.” He punches the light switch. Haruka squeezes onto the bed and gingerly lays down on his side, his back turned toward him. “I’m going to fall off.”

Slyly, Makoto curls an arm around him and pulls him into his chest, spooning him. They’re a little squished but at least Haruka isn’t half hanging off the bed. “See? Told you we’d fit.”

“You still need a bigger bed. For, you know.” He wiggles against him, pressed up against his crotch.

“Haru! You don’t have to make it sound so scandalous!” Makoto squeaks sharply.

“Just you wait,” Haruka throws over his shoulder, “It’ll get scandalous soon enough.”

“Haru!” he whines nasally into Haruka’s neck.

Haruka flips over so that they’re face to face. “Good night, Makoto,” Haruka tucks his head under his chin, curling against his chest.

And with that, Makoto can’t stay mad at him. Not when Haruka cuddles right into him. And certainly not when he finally gets to fall asleep with Haruka in his arms. “Good night, Haru-chan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH. EM.GEE. _You guys!_ They finally made it! It’s what we’ve all been waiting for! Rejoice!
> 
> 1I suppose that’s one way for an erection to die…  
> 2Oh, Makoto, you sweet child. Not everyone is as considerate as you.


	14. You Are Very Convincing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did they go from hot and steamy make out sessions complete with some enthusiastic dry humping to completely paralyzed with shock and embarrassment in the harsh light of day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Kick your feet up on the couch and grab some popcorn because things are gonna get real entertaining!
> 
> Oh, hey, the ‘Very Frank Discussions About Sex Because They’re Super Important’ tag is back! Sure, actual, substantial conversations about sex may be uncomfortable to have. But do you know what else would be uncomfortable to have? Chlamydia and gonorrhea. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Howling winds rumble furiously like a vengeful god, repeatedly smacking against the glass windows, loud enough to wake him up before he’s ready. The thick fog of sleep slowly recedes, his blurred eyes fluttering lazily, the sunlight shining bright behind his eyelids. 

As he reorients himself, the first thing he notices is the strangely familiar weight glued to his back. He very nearly rolls away from said weight, instinctively disliking the feeling of being crowded, but he then remembers what happened last night. That he showed up at Makoto’s apartment in the dead of night. That they _confessed_ to each other, _made out_ with each other, and climbed into this very bed together.

Definitely not something he can forget.

For all his careful and diligent planning, he just up and blurted out his feelings. It’s a shame too. He had things set in motion; his fridge stuffed with groceries so he could make all of Makoto’s favorites, that new mecha movie that Makoto has been dying to see downloaded and queued up, and the blanket for the kotatsu freshly washed for them to snuggle under. Instead, he did the one thing he was actively trying not to do. He supposes he can’t be too upset with his abrupt confession. After all, Makoto reciprocates, they’ve made out — heavily — and he’s currently being spooned by his best friend. 

He knows he should get up, get ready for the day, probably make some breakfast, but it’s so nice to lie side-by-side like this. The bed is far too narrow for two grown, athletic men to sleep on comfortably but Makoto’s persistent presence makes it worthwhile. Makoto’s larger body curls around him, his warmth covering him like a blanket. Haruka curves his back, leaving absolutely no space between them. They fit together perfectly, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, he notes with deep satisfaction.

He can feel every inhale and exhale Makoto takes, his ribs expanding and contracting against his back. His breath wisps over the short hairs at the nape of his neck, tickling him. Deciding that it’s okay for him to sleep in, since it’s the weekend, he snuggles deeper into Makoto. As he closes his eyes, Makoto shifts, hugging him tighter, and presses his groin right up against his ass. 

He freezes, eyes snapping open, suddenly feeling shy despite everything they did last night. Or, well, early this morning. Makoto’s morning erection declares it’s presence and screaming for attention. He should _really_ slip out of bed, if only to stop his own burgeoning hard-on from becoming a full-fledged one. Before he can act though, Makoto stirs awake and the hope of sparing them both mutual embarrassment is lost.

Makoto nuzzles his nose into his hair, a happy sigh brushing over his neck. The calm doesn’t last long and he knows the exact moment when Makoto wakes up, realizing their position and bodily reactions. Makoto’s entire body tenses, and he swears he stopped breathing too. It is notable that Makoto doesn’t pull away though, his morning wood still nestled snugly at his cheeks. 

How did they go from fervent, hot, and steamy make out sessions complete with some enthusiastic dry humping to completely paralyzed with shock and embarrassment in the harsh light of day?

Finally, Makoto seems to gather his wits as they’re deluged with awkwardness. He lets out a quiet squeak — more of a whimper, really — shuffles back slowly to ease away from him, and slides his arm out from under him. He’s finally free and rolls away.

Except… Makoto must have forgotten where he was because the next thing he hears is a terrifying and heavy thud hitting the floor and Makoto yelping in pain.

Immediately, Haruka scrambles over to the other side of the bed, peering down at his best friend rubbing his back with a grimace. “Makoto! Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he replies, surprisingly truthful.

He _says_ that, but he seems perfectly fine to him. The lack of bloodshed has Haruka’s shoulders slumping in relief. “I told you your bed is too small.”

“Sorry,” Makoto winces as he pulls himself to his knees.

If he knows Makoto half as well as he thinks he does, and he does, Makoto is apologizing for the whole pressing his hard cock against him thing, which is really unnecessary because it’s not like he has physiological control of when he does and doesn’t get an erection. Also, Haruka has exactly zero complaints over it.

“What are you apologizing for?” Haruka asks rhetorically and trying to seem nonplussed, “I think we’re way past that with everything that happened last night.” Haruka talks a good game, as if he wasn’t just as frazzled five seconds ago.

“Last night did happened, didn’t it?” Makoto asks, his voice taking on a dreamlike quality and eyes drooping with a faraway look. He has no business looking so, well, _so_   _fucking hot_ this early in the morning. Especially not after waking up just two minutes ago.

He can’t stop the blush from staining his cheeks. Retreating, he simply suggests, “We should get ready for the day.”

“Wait, Haru.” Makoto scrambles back onto the bed, sliding his hand over his.

Haruka keeps his eyes averted, not wanting to let Makoto see how much it’s affecting him. “What is it?” his voice, gravelly and tight.

“Haru,” Makoto’s voice, on the other hand, is light and soothing. Like a sailor being lured by the enchanting song of a siren in those Greek myths, Haruka turns to him. And just like those unfortunate sailors, he’s lost to a sea of glimmering green. Makoto breaks out into a brilliant smile at his acknowledgement. Their foreheads meet, and with a deep, satisfied sigh, Makoto contently greets him, “Good morning, Haru-chan.”

He rubs his nose affectionately against Makoto’s. Haruka groans internally, _shit_ , his life really has turned into a shouju manga with all this nauseatingly cutesy stuff. _Stupid Makoto_ , he thinks. Instead, he buries his face into Makoto’s neck, gracing the warm skin there with a gentle kiss.

“Good morning, Makoto,” he greets back in a low murmur and Haruka can feel Makoto grinning in his hair. 

“Can we stay in bed instead? Just for a little? Five minutes?” Makoto murmurs faintly, eyes pleading.

They shouldn’t. Five minutes will turn to ten, will turn to fifteen, and so on and so forth. “…Fine. _Five_ minutes.” As much as he’d love to, they can’t possibly spend all day in bed. The world doesn’t stop for anyone, much less for two fools in the midst of discovering romance for the very first time.

“Five minutes,” Makoto nods eagerly.

Haruka peels back, his eyes narrowing sternly, “I mean it. I need to make breakfast. And run some errands and then go home to check on Saba. She’s going to be so mad… You’re coming with me.”

Makoto laughs at his concern and he scowls. Obviously, he hasn’t seen Saba when she’s at her worst. She’s always on her best behavior, suddenly turning into a little, fuzzy angel whenever Makoto is around. The little suck up.

Makoto squeezes him gently, “Of course I’ll go with you. I won’t let you face her alone.”

Haruka bristles at Makoto humoring him, “You better not.”

Haruka settles back down on the mattress, invading Makoto’s space to make sure they don’t fall off the bed. He nestles against Makoto’s broad chest comfortably.

Makoto strokes his back, his muscles relaxing and unwinding under his soothing hands. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, his cheeks rubbing over Makoto’s clothed chest. “No weird dreams.”

“I’m glad.” Makoto shifts, shaking the entire bed frame as he moves, “Bed wasn’t too small then?” he grins sleepily.

Haruka settles against Makoto. The narrow bed may accommodate the two of them for now, but for the long term, Makoto’ll need a more permanent solution. Especially if Makoto wants him to stay over more often. “We’ll need a bigger bed though. For, you know, butt stuff.”

Wide awake now, Makoto chokes on his tongue, growing redder and redder by the second. “Haru! Do you think we’re going to jump right into–”

“Well, I didn’t mean right this second. I’m not ready that,” he quickly assures Makoto. He might want all the kissing and the touching and possibly getting off together but he is definitely not ready for…  _penetration_.

Makoto buries his face into his shoulder, his voice muffled. “I… I can’t believe you’re actually interested in…”

“Butt stuff,” Haruka (un)helpfully finishes for him.

“Haru!” Makoto wails again. He should stop teasing him but Makoto makes it so easy to get a rise out of him.

“Well, aren’t you?” Haruka asks seriously.

Makoto pauses, visibly gnawing at his bottom lip. “Well, I mean, yeah, of course I am. But you…”

Haruka cuts in before he can finish, “I’m a boy in love with another boy. Of course I’m interested in butt stuff.”

“Haru! You’re doing this on purpose!” Makoto pouts childishly.

Haruka cocks his head in bemusement, feigning ignorance. “Doing what?”

Makoto narrows his eyes, “You know what!”

He sighs, rolling his eyes at his dismay. “We’re going to have to talk about this eventually. Stop being so embarrassed about it.”

Makoto concedes, “Yeah, I know but…” he quickly stops short and does a double take. The olive green orbs glimmer and sparkle with life under the morning sun. “Wait, did you just… You’re in love with me?” he asks in absolute amazement.

Why does Makoto sound so surprised? It’s not that far-fetched of an idea, is it? “Maybe.” His eyes dart away quickly before shyly meeting his again. “Are you in love with me?” Haruka asks with a quiet, borderline shy murmur.

As he smiles, the gold specks in Makoto’s eyes dance and twinkle happily. “Is me being in love with you a prerequisite for you being in love with me?”

He wills himself to not look away, to have the courage to look Makoto in the eye. “Maybe.”

Makoto chuckles, deep and full of affection, and tilts his face toward him. He brushes the fringe out of Haruka’s eyes, smiles softly, and without any traces of teasing, he firmly tells him, “I am madly in love with you, Haru. I think I have been for a long time now.”

He hums with immense satisfaction. “Good.”

Makoto arches an incredulous eyebrow, “Wha-? That’s all you have to say?”

Haruka shrugs indifferently, his voice impassive even as his eyes glow with poorly concealed delight. “Well, I think I’ve made it abundantly clear how I feel. If you still have questions, you should work on your listening comprehension.”

He knows that one day he won’t be able to get away these artful dodges; that one day, he’ll need to actually say the words that seem to disintegrate like ash on his tongue whenever he attempts it. Today is not that day though. Besides, the words are out there in the ether, ready to be rearranged and reconstructed into the right order when the time comes.

The corner of his eyes crinkle, softening his face but Makoto playfully clicks his tongue, an exaggerated pout tugging at his mouth, “You know, you really are a butthole.”

“You need to find a new word,” his voice grinning even when his face physically isn’t. Haruka cuddles deeper into Makoto’s embrace.

Sighing in contentment, Makoto purrs, his chest vibrating under his palms, “Hey, Haru?”

“Hmm?” he hums sleepily. Despite all the hard muscles, Makoto makes for a very comfortable pillow.

There’s a pregnant pause as Makoto seems to change his mind. “Never mind.”

Haruka nuzzles his collarbone, he mumbles, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Makoto shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it.” 

The denial has him on high alert. He lifts up his head and blinks at him, “It’s obviously not nothing, Makoto. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Makoto hesitates, rubbing the back of his head, “I just…”

“Makoto,” he says in a tone that books no argument.

“May I kiss you?” Makoto blurts out in a rush.

“You already asked that last night,” Haruka cheekily reminds him.

“Yeah, but…” Makoto starts cautiously, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks, “Just because you said ‘yes’ last night doesn’t mean it’s a ‘yes’ today. I don’t want to presume that last night’s yes is a forever kind of yes. Consent is important. And necessary.”

Haruka marvels at the fact that Makoto doesn’t just assume things, even though he’s the one most equipped to do so. He already knew it to be true but this definitely cements it. This man is perfect, flaws and all.

Haruka nudges his thigh with a knee and proposes, “How about this then? If there’s ever something you don’t like, or don’t want to do, just tell me. And if there’s ever something I don’t like, I’ll tell you and we’ll stop. No questions asked.”

Makoto doesn’t take much time to think about it, nodding enthusiastically at the plan. “Deal.”

Haruka shifts, fully lying on his side and glares at him sternly, “You have to be honest.”

“I know,” Makoto nods again, his grin not leaving his face.

“You don’t get to ‘I know’ me, Makoto. I know you better than anyone and you wouldn’t speak up about your discomfort if you thought it was inconveniencing someone.” Haruka pokes his face, refusing to let Makoto get away with his over-accommodating nature.

With a soft laugh, Makoto grabs his hand before he can poke him some more, kissing his fingers. “I get it, I get it!”

“This is important. We both have to speak up if there’s something we’re not comfortable with or ready for. This isn’t about just you or me; this is about you _and_ me. It’s about _us_. So promise.” Why is he lecturing him about this when Makoto is the one that brought this up in the first place?

The laughter fades and his eyes soften. “I promise.”

Haruka feels as giddy as Makoto looks. “Good. Now, are you going to kiss me?”

Makoto’s grin stretches from cheek to cheek. He slides closer and gently presses his mouth against his. It’s feather-light but it burns through him like a wildfire. Haruka wanted to take in the details, the shape, taste, and feel of him last night but he was consumed with Makoto’s scorching body to properly do so. He makes up for it now though. Makoto’s lips are even softer and smoother than they look. He’s much better with his chap stick application than Haruka is. His dry, crackled lips must feel like sandpaper by comparison.

Haruka brings his hands up to his hair, the thick, luxurious strands catching between his fingers. Makoto’s warm hands are gentle against his thigh, barely touching him but still manages to coax him into hooking his leg over his hip. His fingers leave his scalp, seeking out his back and shoulders instead. The muscles he’d been fantasizing about for the past week jumping and twitching at the contact.

He remembers last night and how hot it was when Makoto slid his tongue into his mouth, and wants to feel that heat again. Haruka parts his lips, silently giving Makoto permission to invade his mouth with the wet muscle. Makoto, of course, obliges; softly running his tongue along the seam of his lips. Their tongues join; sliding over, under, and against the other in an increasingly erotic tangle.

He knows he should be horrified with morning breath, but they have seen each other at their best and at their worst. A little morning breath is hardly a cause of shame or embarrassment. There’s not much that either of them can do that will cause one to judge too harshly on the other.

Things heat up quickly, the overly cautious touches growing bolder and more insistent. The room turns unbearably humid due to all the friction rather than anything else. He hardens embarrassingly fast under his borrowed clothes. Makoto eases him onto his back, hovering over him. Haruka doesn’t think — he doesn’t really think he can tell left from right, up from down anyway — and lets instinct take over. He parts his legs, uses his feet for leverage, and lifts his pelvis, rolling his hips into Makoto. Makoto follows his lead, meeting his upward thrust with a downward one.

Haruka doesn’t need his sight to tell him that Makoto’s hard and aching; he can hear it in the way Makoto groans and pants. He can _feel_ it, even through the layers between them. It feels as it did last night and it feels fucking amazing.

He’s fully hard now; his cock heavy and his borrowed shorts tight as his erection tries to fight its way out of the confining fabric. “Makoto,” he groans in pleasure.

“I thi… I think we’re gonna go over that five minute limit.” Makoto pants against his lips.

Typical. Haruka already predicted this would happen — the staying in bed for longer than five minutes part, not the making out part. Their breaths mingle and Haruka swallows roughly. The glazed look in his green eyes is almost black with desire. He noticed it last night as well and just as it did last night, the smoldering gaze causes his gut to clench in anticipation.

“We don’t have to do anything more than this,” Haruka struggles to pant out.

Makoto nuzzles his cheek, his hot breath fanning over his neck. “I know. But it’s so tempting. If you don’t want anymore, you need to tell me.”

 _As if_. Haruka wasn’t the one that stopped them from going further last night. He lets Makoto know exactly that. “What happened to slowing down?”

Makoto laughs, out of breath, “You know, I’ve had all night to think about it, and we’ve had, like, 20 years to get to know each other. Any more than that seems a bit excessive and unnecessary.”

Not letting Makoto onto how pleased he is with that, he keeps the smile off his face and voice steady. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

He makes a noise of satisfaction, blue eyes twinkling, “Glad you’ve come around to my way to thinking.”

“Yes, well,” Makoto blows the long fringe from his eyes, “you are very convincing.”

Haruka cocks his head, curiosity getting the better of him. “Wonder what else I can convince you of.”

Makoto laughs, joyous and lighthearted. The sound warms both his heart and cheeks. “I think you can convince me of anything.”

It’s quite the loaded statement. His interest and curiosity piques and he’d like to fully explore the veracity of the statement. “You think so?”

Makoto arches a brow. “I’m pretty sure you can convince me that the earth is flat if you really tried,” he says with a hint of amusement.

Haruka seriously doubts that’s true but he plays along anyway. “Hm,” he hums contemplatively, “Just because I _can_ doesn’t mean I _should_.”

Makoto nods sagely at the wise sounding words. “Well, as long as you’re aware of your powers and wield them responsibly.”

This time, Haruka doesn’t stop himself, he grins up at him. He finds that he _really_ enjoys flirting with Makoto now that he’s put a name to it. But they can do more of that later. Right now, he wants kisses. He enjoys the kissing even more than the flirting.

He pulls him down, resuming their kissing. It’s a little sloppy and clumsy but just as he did last night, he pours all his pent up desires into their kiss, wanting Makoto to experience the full extent of his love for him, leaving no doubts about his affections. Because despite last night’s long, emotional conversation, expressing himself verbally still isn’t something that comes easy for him and may never be easy for him.

The kiss reluctantly ends when Makoto draws back, taking a deep pull of oxygen. He nuzzles his nose against his ear and Haruka can already feel the embarrassment coming off him in waves. “I know I probably don’t need to tell you this and you probably already know, ’cause, you know, I’ve never done this before but… Well, I guess mom has drummed it into me enough times that I feel the need to say it anyway…”

Haruka can’t even begin to unravel Makoto’s ramblings. “Makoto?”

But Makoto plows straight ahead as if he hadn’t heard him. “And, I mean, she isn’t wrong. It is important to know. Even though it’s super mortifying and doesn’t really apply to-”

Haruka tugs at Makoto’s hand, cutting off his babbling. “Makoto. What is it?”

“I’m clean,” he blurts out in one quick breath.

After a brief moment of confusion, Haruka blinks in recognition. Could Makoto possibly mean… “You-what?”

Makoto takes a deep breath and stammers nervously, “I got a physical workup the other week and they tested me for all kinds of things because, you know, university student and all that so they did a full battery of tests and I’m… ahem, I got a clean bill of health.”

“Oh.” It certainly wasn’t quite what he was expecting from Makoto, but, well, he expects nothing less from his impeccable and fastidious best friend. Haruka chews his already battered lips warily before grunting. “Well, in the spirit of full disclosure, I am too,” he offers bluntly.

Makoto nods in appreciation, as if he didn’t know that fact all along. “Did I make things awkward?”

Haruka turns his head to the side and exhales lowly, “No, it’s fine…”

Wanting things to get back on track, he drags Makoto down, back to his lips. Hands drift and roam freely over the other, bringing about shuddering breaths and strained gasps. Haruka slips under Makoto’s shirt, taking pleasure once again in the feel of his bare skin twitching under his fingers, delighting in the contrast — relishing in the soft skin stretched over hard, firm muscle.

“Off,” he mumbles impatiently, pushing and tugging at the offending shirt.

Makoto is quick to comply with his demand, pulling away just long enough to whip his shirt over his head. Even with familiarity in the sight, his brain just shorts out at Makoto confidently and eagerly baring himself to him. He is stunning. He’s never taken the time to truly appreciate the absolute beauty and strength of Makoto before. He makes sure to rectify that outrageous oversight as early and often as possible. Makoto trembles, his body quivering with either excitement or exertion or both and all they’ve done is barely rub up against each other.

Haruka reaches up, tenderly sweeping his palms across his ever expanding chest, his fingers lingering over his beating heart. Haruka places a heated kiss there and, under his lips, he can feel Makoto’s heartbeat matching his own —  _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_ — and it leaves him in awe at how in sync they are in this moment; at how in sync they’ve _always_ been.

Makoto slips his hands underneath his shirt, his blunt fingernails gliding up his sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps over his skin as he goes. Makoto, voice thick with desire, whispers hoarsely, “You too.”

Haruka complies, leaning up and wriggling out of it with Makoto’s help. His head hits the pillow again, the air in his lungs whooshing out from the impact as he falls back down. Makoto remains over him, his arms trembling as he hovers. He doesn’t move, is barely breathing as he waits for Makoto’s next move. Everything seems to slow down and speed up, as if they were existing in and out of time.

Makoto’s breathing slows, his exhales long and heavy. Makoto simply keeps staring at him. Haruka tries to fight off the blush but can’t help the tingle from spreading in his cheeks under the intense scrutiny. Makoto finally moves, dragging his fingertips over his ribs in tantalizing fashion, but his eyes, dark with arousal, doesn’t relent. They continue to drink in every last detail.

“You keep staring,” Haruka looks away, unable to withstand the depth of Makoto’s tender, verdant eyes. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Makoto shakes his head dazedly, “Not like this. Never like this. Not when I’m allowed to touch; when you’re under me like this,” he whispers, voice full of awe and wonder.

Fair enough. He felt the same upon setting his sights on Makoto’s half-naked form. He’s never seen him from this angle, in this light. Sweat has already started to bead up along the dips and crevasses, slicking his torso. Makoto’s hair is wilder than usual, his chestnut mane coming apart under his fingers, and his eyes half-lidded and dreamy. The heady combination leaves Haruka’s body vibrating with lust, the heat racing down his spine and settling in his gut.

But he doesn’t have to say it out loud! He turns his head away again, his cheeks feel blazing hot against the cool pillowcase.

“Sorry,” Makoto apologizes, nuzzling his nose along his jawline, “Should I have kept that to myself? I shouldn’t say things like that out loud, right? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It’s not that he _dislikes_ it, but, well, he does. But also doesn’t. The stark juxtaposition of emotions leaves him feeling like he’s in the middle of a lake, on a rowboat with no oars. “It’s fine,” Haruka mutters weakly, “Forget it.”

Haruka shifts, wiggling against the mattress, causing his erection to graze over Makoto’s.

Makoto sucks in a harsh breath, voice low and deep, “Haru-chan…”

There’s that dichotomy again. _Fuck_ , why did he say that **here** and **now**? He ought to scold him. It is so inappropriate!

Also inappropriate? What it does to him; the reaction it gets out of him; how it gets him even hotter, makes him shudder in pleasure. He can feel his pulse in his freaking dick for crying out loud! It throbs frantically against Makoto’s swollen member and he wonders if Makoto can feel it too.

It is not a reaction he was expecting nor was it a welcomed one. But Makoto pushes against his crotch even more, angling up and grinding over and around his now dripping cock, pressing against his balls. Haruka fists the sheets, his fingers curling over the fabric so tightly that his neatly trimmed nails dig into the meat of his palms.

Makoto lowers the rest of his body, his bare skin, slick and warm, finally — _finally_  — flush against his own. The crackling heat where their flesh touch consumes him,  _burns_ him, spreading throughout his body that leaves him shivering with desire. Makoto takes one of his hands, loosening his grip on the sheets and instead laces their fingers together. He brings it up to his lips, laying a chaste kiss on the back of his hand.

Haruka watches his gentleness with quiet wonder. He wraps his legs around Makoto’s waist, licking his lips unconsciously, “Makoto. Kiss me.”

Their entwined hands fall beside his head, Makoto squeezing his hand in encouragement. Makoto leans down, affectionately rubbing his nose against his. His breath brushing over his swollen lips before he finally closes the gap and kisses him, slotting his mouth to cover his. He slowly rolls his hips toward Makoto, dragging his clothed cock to grind on him.

“So good, Haru-chan,” his breath comes out ragged and choked.

To his horror, Haruka whimpers at his nickname, bucking up at Makoto. “Dr-drop the -chan,” he moans, low and deep in his throat.

“But why? You seem to like it.” Makoto smugly points out as he meets Haruka’s thrusts with his own.

Groaning in embarrassment, he turns away. Haruka was _really_ hoping Makoto wouldn’t notice that little fact.

“Makoto…” He tries to reprimand him but forgets what he was trying to say because Makoto’s cock brushes at him _just_ right. Electricity shoots up his spine; his sensitive cock head catching the seam in his underwear and rubbing at his leaking slit.

Makoto litters his neck with all kinds of sweet and gentle kisses, nips, licks, and sucks; spending an ornate amount of time along his collar bone as he rocks into him in a slow and steady pace. It’s a perfect rhythm for exploration, perfectly suited for Makoto. He feels his muscles tighten, his whole body vibrating at the feel and thought of sharing with Makoto a part of himself that he has never shared with anyone else; has never even thought to.

The narrow bed rocks along with them, the wood frame creaking and groaning under their movements. Haruka wonders if this is what will really break the bed. It’s a given that it wasn’t designed for two but as long as they stayed relatively still, they’d be fine. But their combined weight along with activities of a more… vigorous nature? He’s positive that it’ll stretch the limits of the bed’s capability. 

“Shit. Haru… so good,” Makoto tenses, his jaw clicking shut.

“ _Yes_ ,” Haruka hisses, “ _Ah_ , Makoto,” he gasps sharply.

His release takes him completely by surprise when oxygen leaves his lungs at a well-placed thrust. Everything becomes hazy, the fire in his belly burning higher and hotter than ever before. His toes curl, their fingers squeezing together so tightly that they begin to tingle from the lack of circulation. His free hand digs into the thick, strong muscles of Makoto’s shoulders, etching scores of thin, red lines over his golden flesh.

The pressure originating from his groin radiates all over, his body snapping taut and he arches into Makoto. Pleasure explodes, his limbs feels like they’re going to float away. His hearing becomes muffled, as if diving underwater for the very first time and color bursts brilliantly behind his eyelids as he comes forcefully in his borrowed shorts. His moan stutters in his chest — deep but quiet — at its peak.

The shorts quickly grow soggy and uncomfortable, soaking through the fabric. He’s sure that Makoto can feel it too but that doesn’t stop him from moving though. Not when Makoto hasn’t come yet. Not when he desperately wants to help Makoto reach his own crescendo. One hand continues to squeeze Makoto’s hand, while the other strokes the well-toned muscles, flexing and bunching at every swipe. He slides his thigh between Makoto’s legs, grinding it against his cock. Makoto rides his leg in response, rocking his hips back and forth.

Haruka whispers his name, whimpering in over-sensitivity, “Makoto…” He reaches for Makoto, slipping his hand under Makoto’s boxers, grabbing a handful of round, taut ass and squeezing him wantonly.

After that, it doesn’t take long for Makoto to follow him over the precipice — gasping ‘Haru-chan’ one last time — as his body stills. Haruka watches with awe; watches the pleasure play out over Makoto’s flushed face, his half-lidded eyes, dark and unfocused, and his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he keeps his moans and gasps trapped in his throat. Haruka guesses that the gesture is a leftover habit from growing up in a house full of — and he means this in the most lovingly way possible — nosy people. He’ll have to coax Makoto into letting those sounds free because he desperately wants to know what he sounds like at the height of pleasure. Makoto pitches forward, burying his face in Haruka’s neck, and a breathy whimper escapes between his lips.

They continue to roll their hips at each other, not quite willing to let things end just yet. But the rush from their high eventually ebbs and Makoto collapses on top of him, his limbs weak and boneless. Haruka lets him stay there, the weight reminding him that this is really happening.

…At least until it got too much.

It’s getting a little difficult to breathe with the full weight of Makoto on top of him. What good is it being a world class athlete if he can’t withstand this? But alas, it does become too much and he needs to tap out.

“Makoto,” Haruka grimaces faintly, “You’re… kind of crushing me.”

“Oh! Right.” Makoto lifts himself as much as he can manage. “Sorry.” He carefully slides off, still weak and dazed. He shifts his weight and rearranges their limbs so that they can both fit on the narrow bed. “That was hell of a way to wake up, wasn’t it?”

“Very,” Haruka murmurs in agreement.

“Haru?” Makoto pokes at his arm timidly.

Sated, Haruka — as much as he loathes to admit — actually purrs. “Hm?”

Haruka almost thinks he fell asleep again after a long stretch of silence, but Makoto finally finishes his thought, “…That was amazing.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, albeit breathlessly. ‘Amazing’ was a bit of an understatement but he can’t disagree with the overall sentiment. Haruka releases a long, satisfied sigh. “Yeah, it was. But… Gross.” He cringes at the stickiness clinging to his groin.

Makoto glances down and winces too, “Oh, right. Kind of uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Haruka huffs a tiny laugh through his nose. “Understatement. Next time we should try this without clothes.”

The flush in Makoto’s cheeks that was fading comes roaring back. He doesn’t shy away from it though. As a matter of fact, he plows straight ahead. “Yeah, I think so too.”

He nods firmly, “Definitely.” Even the tiniest of movements remind him of the rapidly cooling and sticky mess in his shorts. “We should also definitely get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.” Makoto tunnels his fingers into Haruka’s disheveled mane and kisses him on the nose. “You can go first.”

Haruka cranes his neck up to look at Makoto. “You’re not coming with me?”

He’s been wanting to get Makoto in the bath with him for the past week and now he’s not going to join him?

So rude.

Makoto purses his lips in contemplation, his nose scrunching, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We might end up not leaving the apartment at all. …Saba’ll be _really_ pissed then.”

That much is true but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. “Fine,” Haruka mutters petulantly. He doesn’t bother stopping the tiny pout that forms. As much as he likes to believe that he isn’t making that particular face (or _any_ face, really), he knows better. He also knows how weak Makoto has always been to said face.

Makoto pulls him back. “Don’t pout,” he thoroughly kisses said pout off his face, “We’ll have plenty of chances to shower together when we’re not short on time.”

That’s good enough for him. The promise of future baths pleases him greatly. “I won’t take long.” Rolling out of the bed, his brows crinkle in distaste at the dark wet spot staining the front of the shorts.

Makoto cackles and he snaps up at the sound of choked laugther. “You look like you pissed yourself,” he snickers behind his hand.

Haruka glares at him. He’s well aware of that but it’s not something that needs to be verbalized for fuck’s sake. “If I look like that, then so do you,” he snaps back at Makoto.

Makoto looks down at the large wet spot and his face scrunches at the stain in front of his own shorts. He kneels on the mattress in front of him and brushes his lips against his hair. “Yeah… hurry up and go shower; I wanna clean up too.”

Haruka huffs — that’s what he was on his way to do before Makoto made his comment — and turns on his heels, fleeing to the bathroom. The quicker he can get out of these clothes, the better. The door isn’t even shut yet when he’s already shucking them off.

Coming in your pants does _not_ feel good. Well, it’s great _when_ you’re coming. It’s the aftermath that is less than ideal.

He rummages through the cabinets for a new toothbrush and quickly hops under the spray. Not even waiting for the water to warm up, he brushes his teeth as he lets the water cascade over him. He reluctantly keeps his promise to keep his shower short; just long enough to shampoo, lather, and rinse away the evidence of their coupling.

Haruka blushes, even though there’s no one around. He just had sex with Makoto. And they’ll have sex again. Without all the barriers. Soon too, if he gets his way. The thought alone is enough to get his groin twitching in interest.

He looks down and admonishes his swelling cock. _You had your fun_ , he glares. But it has no affect. Frowning, he resolves to ignore it, cranking the shower to its coldest setting. _Other things to do today_ , he reminds himself once his semi dies a shockingly frigid death. Stepping out from under the shower, he quickly snatches a nearby towel and rubs vigorously, trying to warm himself up. That shower may have been a touch _too_ cold.

As he dries, he realizes he hadn’t taken fresh clothes with him. Normally, he wouldn’t even bother, but in an effort to spare Makoto of a heart attack, he wraps himself up in a towel. When he returns to the bedroom, Makoto is already out of bed and, from the looks of it, changed.

“Makoto,” he calls quietly from the entrance.

Makoto turns around, “Oh, Har-” he stops short upon seeing him and giggles, “you need clothes, don’t you?” Instead of answering, Haruka nods. “Come on, let’s see if we can find you something,” Makoto gestures to his dresser.

Makoto does most of the work, digging through the drawers for something suitable. He vetoes a few suggestions — the color schemes of some of Makoto’s choices hurts his eyes and sensibility as a some time artist — but eventually settles on the color blocked sweater that he was lusting over last week and a-one-size-too-big pair of sweatpants.

Haruka pulls on a pair of borrowed boxers when large hands and long arms wrap around him. Makoto rests his chin on his shoulder. “Why do I have clothes at your place but you don’t have any at mine?”

He leans back against him and reminds Makoto, “Because I never stay over. Your bed is too small.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you last night. Or this morning,” Makoto murmurs, almost seductively.

_Almost._

He doesn’t even need to see him to know that Makoto is grinning. He isn’t too put off by it though. Like Makoto, he finds delight in their banter. “So we’re already making innuendos, are we?”

Makoto snorts, seemingly amused with the accusation, “To be honest, I think we’ve been making innuendos for as long as we’ve known each other, Haru.”

Sighing in agreement, Haruka pats his arm. “Yeah, I think so too.”

Haruka wriggles out of Makoto’s grip, tugging up the pair of sweatpants. They’re not a bad fit inseam wise, but they’re a bit loose at the waist. He glances at Makoto — still gloriously shirtless — and fuck, the guy is ridiculously  _stacked_. He isn’t on any kind of training regimen and he still looks like he did when he was captain of the swim club. Actually, scratch that, he’s even _more_ muscular.

Well, except for that tiny bit of flabby softness lurking over his lower abdomen.

Makoto’s voice brings him out of his drooling, “Haru?”

The hesitancy in Makoto’s voice makes look up. He’s shuffling from foot to foot, looking uncertain, but hopeful, over something he can’t quite figure out. “What is it?”

Makoto stops his shuffling, chewing his lip instead, and finally asks, “Are you… Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?”

Haruka doesn’t need a name or title for his and Makoto’s relationship. Putting a name to them seems silly and unnecessary because they’ve always been just Tachibana Makoto and Nanase Haruka. He doesn’t anticipate anything about their relationship changing outside of the kissing and sex but even he’s cognizant of society’s obsession with _labels_. Despite his feelings on the issue, his face drops from mildly concerned to sheer disbelief at the question.

“You’re asking me that _now_? After everything we’ve done? After we just got each other off?” His incredulity making him more candid and blunter than usual.

Makoto stutters, his tongue having problems forming words, “Well, I… I mean, I don’t want to assume!” The corner of his lips pulls down into a frown and his eyes crinkle. He knows this as Makoto’s thinking face. “Besides… people do that kind of stuff all the time without being boyfriends or girlfriends.”

Yep, Makoto definitely is perfect. A bit silly for thinking he needed to ask, sure, but he is absolutely perfect for not automatically presuming that they’re a done deal. Makoto takes nothing for granted. He wants to kiss him all over again.

So he does. He rises up on his toes (Makoto is no longer the towering giant he was when they were in high school, so why does he still need to do this? Fucking Makoto.), and gives him a quick peck on his lips.

“True. But we’re not those people.” He licks his lips and can feel how swollen they still are. Tilting his head curiously, he ponders out loud, “Do you want me to be?”

Makoto scratches his chin, thinking carefully, “I think boyfriend might be a little tame but… I’d still like that very much. And I’d like to be your boyfriend. …I mean, if that’s what you want too.” Makoto smiles, gentle but still brighter than anything he’s ever seen before.

He didn’t expect any other answer and there’s no other response he could give Makoto except for a resounding yes. He shrugs, going back to tying the drawstrings of his borrowed sweatpants. “Okay.”

“‘Okay?’ Really? Just like that?” Makoto’s tone tinged with skepticism.

Is he seriously surprised by his answer? Makoto didn’t honestly think that he’d reject him, did he? He lifts his head, and a cocked eyebrow and sparkling green eyes greet him. Makoto was just taken aback that he agreed so… _nonchalantly_. It was more of sardonic tone rather than that of incredulity and disbelief. Admittedly, he probably could have responded more elegantly but, well, words aren’t his strong suit, remember?

“I like you, remember? I want to be with you, Makoto.” Haruka reminds him flatly. “So I’ll be your boyfriend and you’ll be mine.”

Makoto’s attempt at suppressing a smile fails spectacularly, his lips curving upward as a flash of white erupts. “I like how that sounds.” 

Haruka sucks in a harsh breath, “All right, no more stalling.” Haruka pulls on the sweater. It’s a little big and he has to roll up the sleeves. “What do you want for breakfast?”

There’s a flurry of activity as Makoto collects, well, _kicks_ , his soiled clothing into a semi-neat pile. “Whatever you make is fine. Oh… I don’t have mackerel though. Sorry.”

Haruka frowns; it’s not like he was expecting Makoto to keep a stash of mackerel just for him. “You’re a bad boyfriend,” he deadpans.

He snaps up, dumbfounded and speechless. And possibly, a little offended. “Ha-Haru!”

Haruka doesn’t miss a beat though, continuing on as if Makoto hadn’t interrupted. “I guess I’ll just have to use whatever is in your fridge.”

Makoto snatches and clutches his hands tightly, looking far too serious and much too eager for a situation as non-serious as this. “I promise, I’ll always keep mackerel stocked in my fridge from now on.”

Haruka lets himself smile. That wasn’t what he was looking for out of the exchange, but he certainly isn’t going to refuse the generous offer. “You’re a good boyfriend,” he quickly amends. “Now, hurry up and go shower. You still need to come back to help me deal with Saba.”

“Yes, boyfriend,” Makoto smirks with teasing wink.

Haruka sighs, surrendering to his newly crowned boyfriend’s completely ridiculous behavior. His shoulders slump in defeat. So this is what he has to look forward to for the foreseeable future.

He might have to rethink this impulsive decision… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be silly, you would never do such a thing, Haru! Oh my goodness, the flirting is just… stop it. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The earth is **_not (!!!)_** flat. The fact that it is 2017 and for some inconceivable reason, this still needs to be said, makes me tear my hair out. 
> 
> As another note, big thanks to _all of you_ for reading! Without you, I wouldn’t have nearly as much motivation to attempt much of anything. You guys have been the absolute best and I salute and applaud you for patiently sticking with me for so long.  
>  So this is me preemptively thanking you. Thanks for reading! See you at the next update!


	15. What Are You, a Large?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he gets an excited little thrill every time he reminds himself that, yes, _Nanase Haruka is his **boyfriend**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I am so sorry that I haven’t updated in forever and a half. I even missed Makoto’s birthday! That is simply unacceptable. Baseball took over my life for a good chunk of the fall but I am still alive and still chugging along. Or trying to anyway.
> 
> Second, it’s super late but, WE’RE GETTING A SEASON 3 OF FREE! Y’ALL! This pleases me greatly. Here’s hoping we get some Olympics goodness leading up to Tokyo 2020!
> 
> Third, I have been working in this for _over_ a year now. How?!? Where has the time gone? I have no sense of time anymore. So, thank you, 2017, for warping my sense of time.

The automatic doors slide open with an airy whoosh and a tinny, mechanical chime welcomes them. Makoto pulls off his gloves and shoves them in his pocket, his hands ruffling his hair as he addresses Haruka, “So what do you need to get?”

Starting from his pinky, Haruka counts off the items he needs. “Toilet paper, cat litter, shampoo, and toothpaste. You get the cat litter and toilet paper.”

He nods, craning his neck to read the aisle markers, “I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

Makoto quickly winds up at the other end of the store and finds one of the items on Haruka’s list. Haruka didn’t specify, so he makes an executive decision and snags a 12-pack of 2-ply toilet paper. Tucking the cumbersome bundle under his arm, he quickly works his way to the pet supplies aisle. Finding the familiar kitty litter package, he tucks that under his other arm. But as he turns to make his way back to Haruka, a bright, neon green collar with blue fishes and a tiny silver bell catches his eye and immediately, Makoto just knows that he _has_ to get it for Saba.

As an apologetic offering.

After some intense juggling, he hurries to where he assumed Haruka would be. But there was no Haruka to be found in the oral care or the hair care sections. So where could his boyfriend (and he gets an excited little thrill every time he reminds himself that, yes, _Nanase Haruka is his **boyfriend**_ ) possibly be? He peeks down the surrounding area, aisle by aisle. By the fourth aisle, he gets a little worried as there’s still no sign of him. It isn’t until he’s frantically scanning the sixth aisle that he finally finds the familiar, silky sheen of black hair.

Makoto exhales in relief and then huffs with exasperation. “Haru, there you are! I’ve been looking all ov- wh-what are you doing?” He sputters when he realizes that Haruka is loitering in personal health section.

Where all the lube and condoms and other sexual health paraphernalia are stocked.

Haruka looks up, pleased to see him. “Makoto. Good. You’re here. Did you know that there are different types of lubrication?”

The thing about living in the internet age is that you can look up just about anything you can possibly think of (and a lot of the times, didn’t want to think of), so he did in fact know about this particular factoid but his mouth fails to catch up to his brain because _what is even happening_? He’s left dumb and gaping, “I… What?”

Haruka takes the not-so-subtle-looking bottles off the shelf, one by one, and presents it to him — as if he were on a game show. “This one warms up and this one cools. There are some that tingles. And there are flavored ones. Oil-based, silicone- oh,” Haruka practically squeals in excitement. Okay, maybe not so much externally, but Makoto recognizes the delighted gleam in his eyes for what they are. “Makoto, there are _water_ -based ones. Do you know what this means?”

He stumbles back in shock, overwhelmed with the increasingly torturous barrage of lube, of all things. “What… What are you—?”

Haruka shrugs, cocks his head to the side, and without a smidgen of shame, explains succinctly, “We should be prepared.”

He feels faint. He knows Haruka is right; that they should be prepared, but Haruka’s bluntness makes it difficult to grasp the concept competently. Makoto braces himself against a shelf, trying to catch his breath while his other hand clutches at his pounding heart.

“Oh,” the curious lilt in his tone makes Makoto look up, “Good thinking, Makoto. We should get condoms too.”

“Huh?” Makoto’s head swivels in confusion and then abject horror. His yelp is comical — undignified and squeaky — and he jumps and yanks his hand away, as if burned when he realizes he’s leaning on the shelf lined with condoms.

Haruka eyes him critically, his curious blue gaze slowly raking down his body, making him feel incredibly self-conscious but it’s nothing compared to what Haruka asks next: “What are you, a large?”

“Haru!” Makoto squeaks in dismay, instinctively covering himself for modesty’s sake.

Oh gods, he really is going to die of embarrassment. He feels his cheeks heat up so hot and fast that he thinks he’s going to die from oxygen deprivation. Right here, in the middle of the personal health aisle, drowning in condoms and lube. What would his parents say? What would they _think_? He hopes they don’t tell Ran and Ren how he died. How can Haruka say such things with a straight face?

Haruka nods firmly, “I’ll take that as a yes,” and — much to his chagrin — grabs a box of large condoms as well as another box of regular ones, forcing a strangled whimper from his throat. Haruka returns his attention back to the vast selection of lube. “We should start simple, right? None of this tingling, heating, cooling, flavored nonsense.” Naturally, he gravitates to the water-based ones.

Makoto swallows roughly, his distress not waning in the slightest. In fact, it seems to be building larger and larger the longer they stay here. He doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news and this is definitely not something he wants to be discussing in a very public space but well, it’s something Haruka should definitely know. He pushes his discomfort aside and as quietly as he can manage, but still loud enough for Haruka to hear him, says, “I’m not sure if a water-based one will be the best one to start with, Haru…”

Haruka blinks at him, blue eyes round and wide in shock, insulted and hurt. He hugs the bottle to his chest, as if shielding it. “How dare you insult the water?”

“No, Haru, that’s not what I…” He pinches the bridge of his nose and hesitantly explains, “Oil-based _lube_ ,” he hisses lowly. He plows through his explanation, not taking a breath until it was absolutely necessary, “breaks down latex, so if we’re using condoms, we should cross that off, water-based ones dry quicker so you have to remember to reapply and reapply often, but silicone-based ones are waterproof, they’re longer lasting, and are safe on just about everything.” Makoto pauses, remembering what he read, “Well, they don’t play well with silicone to- uh, never mind, that’s not important.”

Makoto hopes Haruka doesn’t ask him what he was about to say because that’s something he really doesn’t want to get into right now.

Haruka purses his lips. His eyes shimmering in curiosity, “And why do you know so much about lubricant?”

His mortification temporarily wanes, “I’m a boy in love with another boy,” he says, using Haruka’s own words, “Of course I’ve done my research on lube.”

Haruka’s face is still passive but the slight arch in his eyebrow is indicative of his interest. “What else have you researched?”

He looks around, and thanks all the gods and goddesses that there’s no one around, but that still doesn’t mean that this is the time and place to be discussing any sex related research he may or may not have done! He has to draw the line somewhere.

“ _Not here_ ,” he hisses, his voice low and strained.

Haruka smirks, ignores his earlier explanations, and defiantly takes a water-based bottle of lube. And then an oil-based one. And also a silicone-based one.

His heart pounds out of his chest. The heat rises from the ends of his toes all the way to the tips of his ears. “Why are you getting so many?!!” It’s really hard to constrain his voice to acceptable decibels when the overwhelming mortification threatens to kill him on the spot.

Haruka shrugs indifferently, “I figure we can try all the basics.”

“I thought you said you weren’t ready for,” he glances around to make sure that they’re still alone and lowers his voice, hissing, “ _butt stuff_.”

“I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be in the future.” Haruka shrugs nonchalantly, “Besides, lubricant isn’t just for butt stuff.”

 _Isn’t just for butt stuff_. Yep, he has definitely died. He just can’t figure out if this is the good place or the bad place.

With all items on hand, Haruka calmly makes a beeline for the queue. Makoto, on the other hand, can’t seem to stay still — constantly fidgeting and eyes darting around nervously. As they draw closer and closer to the cashier, his discomfort reaches a breaking point. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he blurts out in a rush. And without waiting for a response from Haruka, he makes a mad dash out of the store and into the unforgiving cold.

Makoto collapses onto a bench at the storefront. His heart is still pounding, his face still beet red (the biting chill doing nothing to ease the small fire in his cheeks) from both embarrassment and excitement. He cringes after taking a deep breath, realizing what he had done.

He really is a coward. He fled and abandoned Haruka to deal with the… sex stuff. He should have sucked it up; shouldn’t have let his crippling embarrassment dictate his actions. He hopes Haruka isn’t too mad at him. Even though he totally deserves it.

It isn’t long before Haruka is standing in front of him, his hands on his hips and an impatient scowl on his lips.

 _Oh_. He’s definitely mad. And also a little hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Haru,” he almost added the -chan but stopped himself before he did so. It’s inappropriate and he doesn’t want Haruka even madder at him than he already is. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Haruka turns his head with a terse breath, staring into the distance. “No, you shouldn’t have.” He turns back to face him, his shoulders are tense, as if readying himself for an explosive confrontation. “Are you ashamed of being with me?”

He’s flabbergasted that Haruka would even _think_ it, much less say it. He quickly pops off the bench with a stabbing pain in his heart, appalled that Haruka would think that and even more appalled at _**himself**_ for ever making Haruka feel that way. “No! Of course not! I wou— _could_ ,” he corrects himself, “never be ashamed of us. I want to shout it from the roof tops. I want everyone to know. I am so sorry that my running away made you think that.” He brushes the black strands from his eyes, wanting to reassure Haruka, “I wasn’t expecting us to be thinking about this stuff so soon. I know we discussed some of this in passing, but it’s been literally less than a day and we still have a lot to talk about. I’m so sorry I caused you distress.”

Haruka looks away and for five agonizing seconds, he thinks he’s ruined anything worthwhile. “You’re forgiven.” Haruka takes a step, invading his space. He leans in but stops hesitantly to ask, “Is it okay if I…” he lets the question hang in the air, leaving the ball in his court. Makoto nods shakily and Haruka goes ahead to rest his head against his shoulder.

Makoto wasn’t expecting Haruka to be so open to contact; Haruka is not known to be particularly keen on it, much less contact in public. But unlike Haruka, he _craves_ contact so he’s not about to look the gift horse in the mouth. He brushes his lips at the crown of his head, squeezing his middle, and tugs him along.

“Let’s go home.” It feels so good, so exhilarating to say that. He desperately wants to make it literal and not just metaphorical. “I’ll make it up to you, Haru.”

Haruka nods stiffly and follows him. Makoto turns his palm over, lacing their fingers together and not letting go of his hand once as they walk back to the apartment.

* * *

When they get to Haruka’s apartment, he discovers that Haruka was not exaggerating. Saba was not happy. She refused to greet either one of them and she snubs him every time he calls her name. It was as if she knew they were together and they purposefully left her out. Makoto tries to apologize, tries to bribe her with her shiny new collar, but she’s not having it. She sashays away and curls up in a warm corner all while ignoring his pleas.

“Haru,” he whines, “do something!”

“What do you want me to do? Just let her be. If she wants to be a petty jerk, let her,” he tilts his head, and as if she knew he was addressing her, Saba turns her back on him. He swears she even hmph-ed at him!

“Haru-chan!”

“Drop the -chan. It’s your fault. You spoil her. It’s no wonder she acts like this,” Haruka scowls with annoyance. It appears he’s encountered this Saba on more than one occasion.

Makoto winces. He doesn’t know what else to do. It’s not like he purposely spoils her. He isn’t proud of it, but it’s something that just… happens. Especially when she pleads with him with her shiny, wide cat eyes. “Haruuuuu. Don’t be like that. I just want everyone to get along!”

“We get along just fine, Makoto. She’s just throwing a tantrum. She’ll get over it.” Haruka shoves the bathroom supplies and, erm, personal items into his arms. “Here. Leave her alone and go put this stuff away.”

Makoto sighs, resigned to Haruka and Saba feuding (temporarily, hopefully) and shuffles to the bathroom. He shoves the pack of toilet paper into the cabinet, places the new tube of toothpaste next to the nearly empty one, and slots the bottle of shampoo into the open space in the caddy where the shampoo usually sits. Next, he goes to Haruka’s bedroom. He eyes the seemingly innocuous plastic bag hanging from his hand with nervous trepidation.

He isn’t exactly sure where Haruka would like to store these items. He supposes that the bin under the bed is as good a place as any and pulls it out. Before depositing the stash though, curiosity gets the better of him and he peers into the bag for a better look at what Haruka had gotten. He was far too flustered earlier to pay close attention.

He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches in to discover the two boxes of condoms. The packaging is discreet enough, nothing about it screams _Hey, look at me! I’m having sex!_ (although the big letters denoting the ‘LARGE’ condoms makes him wince) but he knows they’re condoms and that’s more than enough to bring a blush to his face. The bottles of lube, however, aren’t nearly as discreet. With the big, flashy characters and bright labels, there’s no mistaking what the colorful bottles held. A black label with gold lettering. Another with a silver wrapping with blue lettering. And most egregiously, bold, black letters plastered across fire engine red.

It seems _so_ excessive. Like, is it really necessary to announce it to everyone? All that was missing were some literal bells and whistles. Wasn’t there something a little less… in your face that Haruka could have chosen instead?

“Makoto,” a smooth, deep voice startles him out of his thoughts.

Makoto jumps off the bed, his shriek sounding like a cross between a drowning cat and a dying crow. He shoves the bag and all its contents into the half drawn bin and kicks it shut.

“Nothing!” he squeaks and suddenly, he feels like he’s five again, getting caught by his mother for sneaking in a chocolate chip cookie just before dinner.

Haruka simply raises a curious eyebrow. “Nothing what?”

He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, “Nothing. Sorry. You startled me.”

Judging the look on his face, Haruka doesn’t believe him but shrugs and lets it go. “Are you going to stay in here all day?”

“I… no?” He isn’t really sure what answer Haruka is looking for, but Haruka jerks his head, signaling for him to follow so he eagerly trails out after him.

They settle on the couch before Haruka abruptly turns to him. “We should probably talk.”

Oh. So _that’s_ what he was fishing for. “Right. Yes. Of course.” They sit together in extended silence, thumbs twiddling and legs bouncing impatiently. “But do we _have_ to?”

Haruka thinks about it for a second but ultimately shakes his head to clear it. “Yes, we do. We need to set… _boundaries_.”

It is extremely rare of Haruka to be the one to bring up a conversation, much less to be the one to willingly have one. There’s another long pause as neither one of them know exactly _where_ to start this conversation.

Makoto decides to dive in first and clears his throat primly, “You, um, said not yet to, uh…”

“Butt stuff,” Haruka supplies helpfully.

“ _Anal_ ,” he corrects tersely.

“How is that better?” Haruka grouses, his nose wrinkling distastefully.

He winces in pain. “It’s not,” Makoto admits begrudgingly.

Haruka affirms, “But, yes. Not yet to penetration.” There’s a pointed pause, and then the boom drops, “Well, at least not yet with your giant dick.”

“Haru!” Makoto screeches in sheer horror.

Haruka flinches at the volume and scowls, “What?”

He hides his face behind his hands, whimpering mournfully at Haruka’s matter of factness. “Well, at least we’re on the same page there. I’m not ready for that either,” he mutters into his palms.

“Giving or receiving?” Haruka tilts his head curiously.

Makoto jerks his hands away and splutters, “Both!” His brain pauses as Haruka’s question sinks in. “Wait, do you…?” his embarrassment and shyness fades away, “Actually, that’s a really important question. Do you want to,” he awkwardly clears his throat, “top or bottom?”

Haruka’s nose scrunches in disapproval, looking as if he sucked on a lemon. “Do I have to choose right now?”

His shoulders uncoil, relaxing with Haruka’s words. He hadn’t thought about that or rather, hadn’t allowed himself to think that far ahead. “Oh, uh, I guess not.”

Haruka sits closer, their thighs pressed together. “I’m interested in both. Or at least in _trying_ both. Unless you don’t want to.”

“No! Not at all. I’m kinda curious myself.” And it’s true. His fantasies never gets that far, but now that they’re discussing it, doing both definitely has its appeals.

Haruka gives a single, firm nod of finality, “Good. So that’s settled. No dicks in butts yet.”

“Haru,” Makoto whines with an admonishing tone.

“But when we do, we both at least _try_ to top and bottom.” Again, Makoto groans at his bluntness. There’s a lull in their conversation, and Makoto thinks that that’s all for today but Haruka has different plans. “Hey,” Haruka nudges his knee with a foot.

Makoto peeks out from under his fringe, “Yeah?”

“Earlier…” Haruka’s voice trails off before regaining confidence, “What else have you researched?”

Makoto nearly chokes on his tongue, stuttering his reply, “Oh! You… you want to know?”

A dark eyebrow arches in amusement, “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Makoto would like for nothing more than for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole at this moment. Still, Haruka asked and he can’t seem to refrain from answering. “It… It’s nothing fascinating. Just, you know, basic stuff. Nothing terribly interesting.”

Haruka, however, seems incredibly interested. “Like?”

He groans, “You’re really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.”

He aims a pout at Haruka’s direction. It does nothing to sway him from this line of questioning. “You’re mean, you know that?”

“Tell me,” Haruka nudges his knee impatiently.

Heaving the heaviest (and most mortified) sigh of his life, he relays mechanically, “Well, lube, obviously, as you already know. Preparation and the importance of stretching… do I really have to continue?”

“Yes,” Haruka nods adamantly.

“But why?” Makoto’s whiny tone returns.

Haruka turns his nose up and sniffs, “I told you. I want to know what you know.”

That just means Haruka doesn’t want to do the research himself. “Well, what do _you_ know?”

He can tell he’s caught Haruka off guard when he flinches. He admits, “Not much.”

Makoto has a hard time believing that considering everything that’s happened today.

Haruka rolls his eyes, “I’m not completely clueless. There is such a thing as common sense.” Haruka purses his lips sourly before continuing, “And… you know those links Nagisa is so fond of mass texting everyone?”

Makoto cocks his head in confusion but then remembers exactly what links Haruka is referring to. His eyes widen. “Oh. … _Oh, no_.”

“Yeah,” Haruka winces, as if physically pained, “I may have caught a glimpse here and there.”

“I am _so_ sorry.” Those things are wildly inaccurate, or at the very least, unbelievable. He tells Haruka as much.

“You’ve clicked on them?” The blue-eyed swimmer questions with a judgmental eyebrow.

“Once or twice in the beginning. When I didn’t know Nagisa was spamming us with inappropriate content!” Why is he even defending himself? It’s clear that Haruka has clicked on them too!

Haruka’s lips curves into a smirk, “So what else have you researched?”

Damn. He thought that line of questioning was done and over with. “Oh, uh, we’re still on that? Right… right, of course. Where was I?” Maybe if he stalls long enough, Haruka would give up.

“Preparation,” Haruka helpfully reminds him.

Of course, he has no such luck. “Right. Preparation. Proper use of condoms. Sexual health and safety. Like I said, it’s all very, very basic.”

“What about… the acts themselves?” Haruka trails off, his brow arched pointedly.

He can feel his cheeks flood with warmth instantly, “Oh, uh, you mean like… no. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He leaves off the fact that he didn’t have to — that his imagination was more than enough, rendering research on said topic a moot and pointless endeavor.

Haruka’s thin, pink lips curl into a smile, “Hmm. Good. We can do that together then.”

Heat begins to swirl in his gut, making him dizzy and giddy. “We… we can?”

Haruka scoots closer, pulling his legs up and tucking them underneath. “Hmm. We should start now.” He cocks his head, his deep blue eyes peering at him expectantly. But he’s frozen in place, savoring in the way Haruka looks at him.

Haruka rolls his eyes with an impatient huff and leans in, brushing his lips over the corner of his mouth. Makoto shifts, tilting his head to slot his lips over Haruka’s to fully press against them. He feels Haruka sigh with relief, leaning and angling his body into his chest.

Bringing his hands up, he curls his fingers into Haruka’s silky smooth hair. Haruka shifts against him again, huffing in frustration when he doesn’t get the desired result. He twists his own body, hoping it’ll help but Haruka suddenly throws one of his legs over his thighs, sliding into his lap, and straddling him all without breaking their kiss. His squeak of surprise is swallowed up by another hungry kiss, this one a little more demanding than the previous one.

Pressed chest to chest, Haruka sits at his full height, allowing them to comfortably kiss without straining their necks. Haruka flicks the tip of his tongue at his upper lip, silently coaxing them open, and instantly dipping in when it does. The kiss turns slow and sensual, as they take the time to map the insides of their mouths. The white, hot heat pools in his groin as Haruka squeezes his waist with his thighs, sighing again, this time in contentment, into his mouth.

A groan warbles in his throat. His tongue curls behind his teeth and strokes at the roof of his mouth. His hands seem to develop a mind of its own, sliding down Haruka’s neck and back, wanting to brand his flesh with his touch. He wishes he had more hands, wants to touch Haruka everywhere all at once and it’s an utter travesty that he can’t.

A slow, shadowy movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

It’s Saba.

The intensity in her judgmental stare seem to burn right through him, forcing him to pull away from Haruka.

Exasperated, Haruka grumbles, “What?”

“Saba…” he whispers hesitantly, “she’s… _staring_.”

Haruka looks over and scoffs, “So what?”

“Haru…” he whines nasally, “I _can’t_. Not with her watching.”

Haruka sighs, “Fine.” Sliding out of his lap and onto his feet, he pulls Makoto off the couch and leads him to his bedroom. Saba’s nails click and clack against the wood floor as she follows them but Haruka blocks her entrance to the room. “No. You stay here,” he closes the door on her mournful meowing.

“Aw. Now I feel bad…” Even though she was being moody earlier, he can’t help the pang in his heart at her sorrow.

“You shouldn’t,” Haruka assures him just before he’s on him again, his teeth restlessly nipping at his bottom lip.

Haruka’s kisses turn demanding as he guides him backwards until he falls onto the bed. Air squeezes out of his lungs as Haruka falls on top of him.

He chuckles lightly, “Slow down Haru. There’s no need to rush.”

Haruka shakes his head and corrects him. “I’m not rushing. I like kissing you.”

If Haruka intended to make him blush, he succeeded. “Oh. I really like kissing you too.”

“Then you should kiss me some more,” Haruka murmurs, eyes glimmering in the afternoon light.

He obliges. Wholeheartedly. For several minutes.

Eventually, they pull apart for breath. He’s rendered breathless again though because Haruka looks so fucking good in his sweater. Well, he looks good any time he wears his clothes. What with the way the collar hangs a little lower on Haruka than it does himself, revealing the hollow dip of his throat and the slender curve of his neck. But as stunning as he looks in it, he’d look even better with it _off_.

“Hey, Haru?” His thumbs rub soothing circles over Haruka’s hip bones.

“Hmm?”

Swallowing roughly, he gathers all this courage. “This morning… When you said we should try this without clothes?”

He feels the smirk forming over Haruka’s lips against his own. Haruka sits up, perched on his thighs, and ever so slowly, drags the sweater over his head, tossing it haphazardly to the floor. Makoto licks his lips at Haruka’s eagerness and pushes himself up, propped up by his elbows. Haruka slinks off his lap, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of his sweats.

He scrambles upright, stopping Haruka from going any further. He has the sudden urge to undress Haruka himself. “W-wait! I… I said I’d make it up to you, remember? May I?”

Haruka drops his arms and nods. Makoto reaches out, pulling Haruka to him until he stands between his parted thighs. His hands mold to the contours of Haruka’s back, fingers dipping into the grooves and sinewy muscles. He litters his chest and torso and wherever else he can reach from where he’s seated with gentle kisses. Haruka trembles and groans, his muscles jumping with every touch of his lips. He lingers at his heart, his tongue poking out to trace the amber nub at the flat of his chest, tasting the sharp saltiness of his skin.

Slender fingers cards through his hair and he dips his head lower, nipping at Haruka’s sharp hipbones and tongue swiping along the hem of his borrowed sweatpants. He tugs the drawstrings free causing them to slip down Haruka’s hips. He helps them down the rest of his legs, slipping his hands into the cotton and pushing it past his hips. It pools around his ankles and Haruka effortlessly steps out of them.

He comes face to face with Haruka’s crotch, still confined behind a pair of boxers, hung low on his hips, a dark patch of thick, coarse hair peeking out from the top. The noticeable bulge swells under his piercing gaze and gives him a string of absurdly chaste kisses along the top of the elastic. His chin grazes his clothed cock, causing Haruka to gasp and buck against him.

“Makoto…” Haruka murmurs breathlessly. Makoto pulls back slightly, curling his fingers around the elastic band, and easing the last piece of cotton over the swell of his ass, letting it drop to the floor with a quiet rustle.

A harsh intake of breath fills the room. He isn’t sure if it was from Haruka or from him but he wouldn’t be surprised either way. His mouth dries at the sensory overload, swallowing becomes difficult as he takes in Haruka in all his naked glory. He is as beautiful as those Greek marble statues that he’s seen in his history textbooks. No, that’s not right, Haruka is even more beautiful than anything from he’s ever gleaned in his musty old textbooks.

His eyes zeroes in on his pale pink cock, resting against his thigh in stark contrast, half hard, curved, and already wet with anticipation. It’s a good look on Haruka; completely bare, lips parted as he pants for air, chest flushed pink, his cock hanging and swaying between his legs as he waits for Makoto to act.

“You’re staring again,” Haruka mumbles lowly, his voice soft and ethereal.

Startled by his voice, Makoto’s eyes dart up to meet Haruka’s. They’re dark, the blue he loves so much, barely visible. “I can’t help it,” he murmurs hypnotically, “This is just… so new.” Especially considering Haruka’s dick is hard and literally right in his face. ‘New’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.

“Well, I hope you’re going to do more than just stare,” Haruka deadpans with a wry twitch playing on his lips.

“Sorry,” Makoto mumbles, still mesmerized, “It’s just… you’re _hard_ , Haru,” he whispers urgently, as if he were saying something taboo.

Haruka huffs and reminds him, “I was hard this morning. Both times.”

Makoto snorts, amazed that Haruka can still be so deadpan, even at a time like this. For the uninitiated, they don’t recognize his comedic genius. They focus more on _how_ he says things — his impassive voice and inscrutable face — rather than _what_ he’s saying.

He leans forward, as if some magnetic force is drawing him in, and presses a kiss at the wet crown of his cock. Haruka gasps, low and raspy. He’s quickly on his feet, lips fastened over Haruka’s, desperate to swallow down every last erotic sound from Haruka’s throat.

He remembers how much Haruka enjoyed it when his hands were on his ass late last night and early this morning. His hands glide over the smooth skin of his hips, stopping at his round, well-muscled rear and lightly squeezes him. It’s breathtaking how he can be so hard and soft at the same time.

Haruka whimpers and slips his hands under his shirt, wrestling with the cotton and carefully stripping it off. He winds his gentle, curious fingers into the thick cotton of his pants, playing with the stretchy band briefly before pushing it past his narrow hips. Impatiently, Makoto shimmies out of them, kicking them off to the side the first chance he gets, and pulling Haruka back against his bare chest.

The momentum nearly tips Haruka over but quickly regains his balance. Their cocks grind together and it’s a goddamn travesty that his boxers are still on but it feels far too good to stop, even for a second. How many times has he fantasized about this? The sleepless nights, the guiltily waking up in the middle of the night, and unfulfilled wet dreams all pale in comparison to reality. He wonders…

“Haru?” Makoto captures his lower lip between his teeth.

Haruka melts against him, a satisfied hum vibrating in his throat. “Yeah?”

“You…” he kneads his fingers into the strong, supple flesh of his ass, “You’ve thought about me — _us_ — like this, right?”

“Yes,” Haruka breathes, his voice an airy gasp.

Makoto swallows the lump in his throat, “Did… did you ever touch yourself?”

There’s a slight smile playing across Haruka’s lips, as if he knew exactly why Makoto was asking such questions, and honestly, he probably does. “Yes,” he hisses in pleasure, with a smirk.

Makoto tucks a finger under Haruka’s chin, tilting his head up, “How?” There’s a raspy, husky texture to his voice that he didn’t even know he was capable of.

“I’ll show you.” Makoto’s eyes widen, glazing over at the thought of Haruka giving him a front row seat to what could be the greatest show on Earth. Haruka snorts, mildly amused, seemingly reading his mind again. “Not like that. Come here.”

Haruka takes his hand and he trails after him, staring at the way the firm globes flex as he walks. He’s almost tempted to bite them. Just a little! He’s not looking to take a chomp out of him. Just a tiny nibble.

Haruka guides him to the bed, his back resting against the headboard. He reaches into the bin Makoto dumped their new supplies in earlier and randomly pulls out an obnoxiously bright bottle of lube. It’s the oil-based one.

Haruka climbs into the bed, parts his legs, and settles between his open thighs, reclining on him, his back pressed against his bare, beating chest. He settles in, shifting around until he’s comfortable. It takes a few tries, but once he finds it, he leans back into him.

“Haru?” he mumbles curiously.

Haruka turns his head and presses a kiss on his chin. “Here,” he murmurs, grabbing his hand and squirting a dollop of lube before directing him to his crotch.

Makoto’s heart races at the mere idea of it and Haruka curls their fingers around him, and almost instantly, his cock swells in his fist. Haruka groans at the first touch and Makoto relishes in the way he hardens and thickens in his palm, can feel his pulse throbbing under his fingers. It’s still mind boggling that this is happening; that Haruka is here with him, solid under his hands. That he’s touching someone else so intimately. And it’s not just _any_ someone else; that he’s touching _Haruka_.

“Haru-chan,” he whispers, mesmerized by both the sight and sound of their slick hands stroking up and down. He wasn’t expecting nor was he prepared for a hands-on demonstration but he isn’t going to complain about it.

Haruka sighs his name into his neck, hot and wet. He also wasn’t expecting that doing this to Haruka would feel good for him too. It’s astonishing that in giving pleasure, he’s receiving pleasure back, tenfold. Because fuck, he is hard. So, so, _**so**_ hard. Haruka hasn’t even touched him, at least, not in the way his cock is begging him to. Just the mere fact that he’s responsible for Haruka’s pleasure — the breathy sighs and stuttered groans — is more than enough to get his cock to stand to attention.

Haruka grinds into him then, rubbing his ass against his raging erection and thrusting into his fist. Makoto bites his lip, choking back the moan clawing from his chest. It partially retracted on its own when he hardened, but with their thumbs, they pull the rest of his foreskin back, exposing the flushed, leaking crown. Haruka flicks his tongue out, wetting his lip as he continues to manipulate his fingers, his index and middle fingers swiping at the head, smearing the pearly beads of pre-come over the tip, leaving it wet and shiny. Their fingers seem to focus entirely on his slit and head.

“So this is how you touch yourself?” Makoto sighs against his skin.

Haruka nods and hums quietly. “‘m sensitive… here,” he gently guides his calloused finger over his dripping slit and grazing his frenulum. The delightful noise from his throat takes him by surprise, turning him on even more. Haruka tunnels his free hand into his hair, “Makoto,” he breathes hotly into his ear. “How… how do you touch yourself?”

Makoto nips at his neck and shoulders, “I’ll show you,” whispers against his increasingly heated skin.

Haruka’s hand falls away and spreads his thighs wider, letting Makoto complete access and full control over his pleasure.

He presses his thumb against his leaking slit, then circling his index finger and thumb just under the belled head, he squeezes it gently. Bringing his other hand up, he palms his length, squeezing at the base and stroking him steadily. He releases the tip and slides his palm lower, cupping his balls, rolling them with his fingers, and letting the weight of it rest in his hand. Haruka throws his head back, lolling against the curve in his neck and shoulder, gasping and moaning deeply.

His eyes drifts from his profile — long, dark eyelashes twitching against his rosy cheeks — to his hard, weeping erection in his hand, and back again. “How’s that, Haru?”

Haruka gasps, “Goo-good,” he stutters with difficulty. Makoto’s thumb flicks over the ruddy head, his fingers becoming increasingly sticky at every pass. “Makoto, gonna… I’m gonna come.”

He stops his movements at that, earning a woeful whine from Haruka. “Wait, Haru, I want to see you.”

Haruka nods and quickly dislodges from his hands, turning around, and then straddling him. He dives into his mouth, tongues curling and teeth nipping. He wraps one arm around Haruka’s back and brings the other hand to curl around his cock, jerking his engorged length; thick, pink, and wet as pre-come flows freely, coating his fingers. The angle is rather tricky and awkward at first but he quickly learns the best way to grip him from this new position. Haruka rocks his hips, thrusting into his tight fist until the muscles in his thighs tense, squeezing Makoto’s midsection, his fringe sticking to his sweaty temples.

“Makoto,” Haruka moans, the apple of his cheeks turning ruby red, his eyes squeezed shut, back bowed, and then, his swollen lips part. It’s a stunning sight coupled with a low, sharp, keening noise that erupts from his lips the same moment he comes. Thick, viscous fluid drench their stomachs and his fingers become slick and sticky with his warm, cloudy release. Makoto pumps him through his orgasm, milking him until Haruka whines, too sensitive for any more.

Makoto releases his grip, letting Haruka slump against him, cradling him in his chest. Haruka leaves his arms wrapped around his neck, effectively hiding his red, blissed out face from him. He has no complaints. While he’d like to see his face and the myriad of expressions on him, he understands the instinct to hide and recompose himself. Besides, he enjoys the weight of having Haruka on top of him and likes the hot breath clinging to his damp skin.

His fingers trail along his spine, blunt nails tickling at each bony knob. Haruka blindly reaches toward the nightstand, his hand flopping and slapping the wood as he tries, futilely, to reach for the box of tissues. Makoto snickers at his attempts and Haruka digs his knees into his sides in retaliation.

“Why don’t you help instead of laughing?” Haruka grumbles sourly. The glowering effect he was going for is ruined with his glazed, drowsy eyes and flushed cheeks.

Makoto laughs again but reaches for the tissue box and helps Haruka clean up. He’s a little reluctant to do so; Haruka looks good with come smeared all over the insides of his thighs and stomach. Does that make him some kind of pervert? He also admits to himself that he kind of likes the warmth of Haruka’s come splattered over him.

Yep, it definitely makes him some kind of pervert.

Haruka stays still in his lap, patiently letting Makoto clean him up as best as he can with the flimsy tissues. He takes extra care in wiping Haruka’s thighs and groin, flushing when he notices Haruka staring intently at his gentle and careful ministrations. When he gets most of the white streaks cleaned up, he tosses the soiled wad of tissues in the rubbish bin.

Haruka wiggles in his lap, his ass grinding against the tent in his briefs. “You’re still hard.”

Makoto’s eyes flutter shut as he takes a calming breath. “I have noticed that. You don’t have to worry about it.” His eyes snap open when Haruka pinches his forearm. “Ow,” he winces.

“Stop it. You always put others ahead of yourself.” His eyes soften, the edges of blue soothing and gentle. “It’s okay to be selfish sometimes. I _want_ you to be selfish.”

The problem is, he doesn’t know _how_ to be selfish. Not consciously, anyway. He’s always shared everything with Haruka growing up, and when the twins came along, there’s not much that you can take and keep for yourself. On the decidedly rare occasions where he did indulge himself, he was left feeling immensely guilty. But here Haruka is, telling him that it’s okay; insisting on it and he wants to. Desperately wants to.

“You do?”

“Yes.” Haruka’s fingertips trail over his pectorals teasingly, drawing random patterns over his skin. “Now what would you like me to do?”

“I…” When he leave it open ended like that, how is supposed to choose? Haruka takes his hand, placing gentle kisses over his palm and his tongue swiping at his fingers. It’s enough to trigger the rapidly fading memories of last night; of the dream that woke him and decides, yes, that is exactly what he wants Haruka to do. “Last night…”

“Mm hmm,” Haruka hums while his right hand snakes between their bodies, palming his erection through the soft cotton of his boxers.

Makoto gasps from the unexpected contact, stuttering in pleasure, “B-be-before you came over, I… I was dreaming.”

Haruka presses down with gentle pressure, his lips resting against his as he asks Makoto to elaborate, “And?”

“…You were in it,” he carefully reveals.

Head cocked to the side, his kiss swollen lips quirks into a smirk, “Was it a good dream then?”

He groans deeply, “Very, very good.”

Haruka’s left hand slides over his chest, fingers drifting down his stomach and stopping to twirl at the light fuzz of his happy trail. “Oh? And what was I doing?”

“Well, you, umm…” Makoto has to pause to swallow the lump in his throat.

Haruka brings his hand back up, curling his fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging and scratching at his scalp. “Makoto, tell me. How do you want me to please you?”

Enthralled in the flutter of his dark lashes and coy blue eyes, Makoto tells Haruka exactly what he wants to hear. “You had me in your mouth. My cock, I mean,” he clarifies unnecessarily.

Haruka stills as his eyes widen in surprise, “Oh.”

He quickly shakes his head, instinctually reassuring Haruka that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. “But I mean, you don’t have—”

Haruka cuts him off with a quick kiss. “I want to try,” he says earnestly, “I want to have Makoto’s cock in my mouth.”

The words send a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. If he wasn’t already hard, he would have been faster than he could blink. “Fuck, Haru… That is so… Where are you learning this?”

Haruka cocks his head, blinking in confusion as he quietly contemplates the question. “It’s just the truth.”

Oh, that is just unfair… “Fuck, Haru…” The things his pretty words does to him is indescribable.

“Stay there,” Haruka instructs, leaving him propped up against the headboard. He doesn’t immediately dive to the goal like he expected. Instead, he starts with his cheeks; kisses along his jaw and down his neck. His tongue traces the protruding bones of his clavicle. “I don’t know what I’m doing so you have to let me know if there’s something you don’t like,” he tells him sternly.

“I doubt you could ever do something I don’t like, but okay.” Haruka hums dipping his head lower and lingering at seemingly random patches of skin here and there. It’s a little ticklish. “Ha-Haru? What are you doing?”

Haruka continues his agonizingly slow journey down. “Your freckles. I don’t want to miss any of them.”

It becomes clear to him that Haruka’s kisses weren’t meant to arouse but to explore and map out every landmark on his skin. From the freckles that formed from the years of swimming under the sun dotting his shoulders, to the birthmark just under his left pectoral, to both nipples. Haruka made sure to lavish careful attention on each one. He rubs his nose against his sternum, his lips teasingly brushing his skin and he’s helpless to do anything but whine at Haruka’s achingly deliberate actions.

His tongue comes back into play when he reaches his stomach, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses all over his abdominals. Makoto tries to stay still but can’t; squirming under Haruka when his gentle fingers rub at his nipple until they pucker and harden from all the attention. Soon, Haruka replaces his fingers with his mouth, gently curling his tongue and suckling at the nub.

Makoto bites down on his lip, stifling even the quietest of sounds that threaten to spill from his mouth. Almost entirely too much time has passed when Haruka returns to trailing hot kisses over his torso, sinking lower onto the mattress until he reaches his underwear. _These_ kisses on the other hand, were meant to arouse.

Haruka kisses his cock, pressing his nose against his crotch as he tongues the head through the cotton. Makoto is unable to stop the broken moan from escaping, too entranced by the warmth of Haruka’s mouth. The wet spot formed on the cotton grows as Haruka continues to lightly suck at him. It feels spectacular but he wants to feel more of Haruka. Wants to feel him on his bare flesh.

 _I’m allowed to be selfish_ , he reminds himself, so he’ll be selfish. “Haru, mo-more.”

Grinning slightly, Haruka releases him, thumbing the wet spot — which just so happens to be where his slit is situated as well — insistently. He nods. He taps his hip, silently asking him to lift his hips. Makoto follows his instructions and Haruka carefully peels his underwear off, his lips following the path of the fabric and back up again. He stops at his groin, his eyes growing wide and lips parting in a sharp intake of air.

“You’re so… _big_ ,” Haruka’s voice breathless and tinged with awe.

He snaps his knees closed as Makoto’s face glows obscenely red and squeaks, “Haru!” He hides behind his hands in a valiant, yet futile, attempt to shield himself from further commentary.

“I thought I was just teasing you. Good thing I got that box of large condoms,” Haruka mutters, his voice laced with amusement.

“Haru! I’m perfectly average!” he sobs his embarrassed shrieks from behind his palms. And he is! While he hasn’t made a habit of staring at other guys’ junk, he knows falls well within the normal range!

Makoto can hear the light-hearted laughter in Haruka’s voice. “Nothing about Makoto is average. Don’t be embarrassed. Besides, even if you are ‘average,’ I think you enjoyed being told that. You got wet. And you’re twitching.”

His anguish flares, pressing his hands harder against his face as if it were enough to calm the reddened skin. But Haruka is right; he _did_ enjoy being told that. Because apparently, he really is a pervert. But it also doesn’t make it any less embarrassing nor did it mean it’s something to be vocalized. He peeks through his fingers only to find Haruka’s focus still on his cock. He can feel said cock twitch in response.

Makoto throws a pillow at Haruka, aimed squarely at his head. “Don’t stare!”

“Why not? You did,” Haruka retorts. “This is the first time I’ve seen you hard and wet.” He pauses, a contemplative frown marring his face, “I mean, I _have_ seen you wet just not **this** kind of wet.”

Makoto nearly busts a gut laughing. He can’t help it. How is Haruka able to say something so… salacious with a straight face and flat voice? He clutches his side as his laughter winds down, noticing Haruka’s thoughtful gaze settled at him.

“Haru?” he ventures tentatively, “What is it?”

Haruka shakes off his reverie, “I don’t think I’ll be able to fit everything in my mouth,” Haruka explains with a hint of disappointment.

Makoto gapes at him, his mouth flapping like a fish out of water. “It’s your first time! I don’t expect you to!” He waves his hands in a panic and amends, “Not that I expect you to next time either!” After another short pause, he amends again, “Not that I’m expecting a next time!”

“Makoto,” Haruka catches his gesticulating hands, “Calm down.”

Makoto takes a deep, calming breath and elaborates, “I just don’t mean to imply that I’m expecting you to do this again. Especially if you end up not liking it.”

Shaking his head with fondness, Haruka’s lips twitch upwards, “Let’s take this one step at a time, okay?”

Haruka’s eyes crinkle and Makoto finishes his thoughts in his head; _we can worry about me liking it or not **after** I try it_. And he’s right. There’s no sense in getting worked up over something that hasn’t even happened yet. Haruka has always been a go with the flow, allowing himself get swept up and worrying about things as they come and not before. It proved to be a problem that last year of high school, and may prove to be a problem in the future, but right now, as of this very moment, it’s a non-issue.

Haruka returns his attention to his groin, peppering his hips and thighs with licks and kisses. His hand cradles the topside of his erection as he starts from the tip, working his way to the base, rubbing his nose at his member and leaving small, sometimes wet but always hot kisses all over the length of his cock. He spends more time than was necessary in showering his balls with the same kind of affection, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin and tongue bathing them with wet warmth, leaving him writhing and breathless.

Haruka works his way back up, licking his cock like a popsicle on a hot summer day. His tongue tracing the path of a particularly prominent vein throbbing along the side of his dick. Makoto bites down on his fist, his other hand clenching the sheets when Haruka finally turns his oral attentions to his swollen, leaking, already exposed head.

With a flick of the tongue, he arches off the bed. Pre-come keeps oozing from his slit no matter how many times Haruka’s tongue laps at him. But it’s still not enough. Not enough for him to come. Haruka seems to understand and indulges him as he wraps his lips around the wet crown and sucks. The wet heat that surrounds him is indescribable. It’s sweltering, tight, and so damn good.

Makoto fails to choke back his whimpers and fails to stop his hips from bucking against Haruka, inadvertently forcing more of his length deeper — deeper than Haruka was ready for — into the warm mouth.

“S-sorry,” he stutters unsteadily, horrified by his complete lack of self-control.

Haruka pulls away, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, and shakes his head. “It’s fine,” his voice raw and raspy, “Just caught me off guard.” His head dips back down but before he continues, his eyes sparkle mischievously, “Try not to choke me again.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond because Haruka is already picking up where he left off. Whereas it was tentative and cautious earlier, Haruka enthusiastically suckles him, playing with the foreskin with his tongue and then dipping the wet muscle into his slit. He doesn’t venture too far past his cock head but that’s perfectly fine with Makoto; the last thing he’d want is another choking episode. Besides, Haruka has his fingers curled around the rest of his shaft, stroking and squeezing him to match the suction of his mouth.

The flat of Haruka’s tongue sweeps at the underside of the belled head, his dexterous tongue seemingly curling and contouring to his shape, grazing at the frenulum and ridged band of the crown. It forces Makoto’s hand to abandon the sheets, instead cradling Haruka’s head, just wanting to touch him more than anything else. His fingers become entangled with his hair, combing it away from his face.

When he looks down, he realizes he made a mistake because the heat coiling in his balls surges, pushing up at the same time the pressure in the pit of his stomach pushes toward his groin. Doubly so when Haruka does the unthinkable and hums around him. The vibrations setting his nerves ablaze, racing up and down his limbs. Dryness claws at his throat and his vision begins to blur but he can still clearly make out the flash of midnight blue peeking up from underneath Haruka’s thick, dark lashes; can still see his pink lips, shiny with saliva and pre-come, stretched thin around his girth.

“Ha-Haru, I…” is as far as his warning gets before the two fronts collide. Throwing his head back against wood bed frame, he comes, flooding Haruka’s mouth. Haruka keeps him in his mouth, letting him finish, and, ultimately, sucking him dry.

It takes several minutes for his brain to stop being mush, sighing contently at Haruka pressing sweet kisses on his chest. When he gathers his wits, he’s startled out of his post-orgasmic bliss.

“Haru,” his name rumbles urgently.

“Hmm?”

“Did you… please tell me you spat it out,” Makoto asks worriedly.

Haruka tilts his head to the side, “Spat what out?”

Panic washes over him. “My… _come_!”

Haruka frowns with dismay. “Why would I do that?”

He almost thinks his eyes were going to fall out of his skull. “You _swallowed_?”

Haruka merely shrugs. “I wanted to taste you.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit. Haruka is going to kill him at this rate. He cannot keep saying things like that and expect Makoto to survive!

“You could have done that without swallowing!” Makoto pauses to regard Haruka carefully. “Wasn’t it gross?”

“Nothing of Makoto’s could ever be gross.” Haruka takes a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, “It wasn’t bad… A little metallic like iron or copper. And your diet might be a little too salty. You need to eat more fruits and vegetables.”

The unexpected diet recommendation leaves him speechless. “I… I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.”

Haruka nods to himself, like he’s figured out a math problem that he’s been stuck on for an hour. “If you want to suck me off, you don’t have to swallow if you don’t want to.”

“You’re too kind.” Makoto laughs, his shoulders shaking with mirth. He brushes the sweaty fringe out of Haruka’s eyes, “Kiss me, Haru.”

“Are you sure? I mean…” Haruka’s eyes quickly dart to his crotch.

He laughs again, Haruka’s concern filling him with warmth. “I’m sure that I want you to kiss me.”

Haruka nuzzles against him and hums before meeting his lips. He can feel himself growing hot again when he tastes himself on Haruka’s tongue, reminding him of what Haruka has done just mere moments ago.

When they pull away again, Haruka sighs contently and murmurs, “Was that okay then?”

He feigns ignorance. “The kiss?” Haruka shoots him an unamused look, causing Makoto to chortle. “That was amazing. You are amazing.”

With a deep look of satisfaction, Haruka gives a single, firm nod of the head, a grin creeping over his swollen lips, “Good. We should take a bath. Or at the very least a shower.”

With a sluggish nod, Makoto agrees, “Good idea.”

Haruka nips at his chin, murmuring against his skin, “Join me.”

Apparently, Haruka is intent on getting him under the spray of water; it’s the second time today that he’s requested that of Makoto. “Yes, yes. Of course, Haru-chan.”

Haruka smacks a pillow into his face, “Drop the -chan.”

Makoto chuckles, “So rude,” he grumbles but obediently follows Haruka to the bathroom.

Makoto freezes in the hallway when he sees Saba sitting there, her tail swishing side to side, her narrowed green eyes silently judging him.

He bolts for the bathroom and Haruka ends up having to console a mournful Makoto over the fact that their precious, innocent, little kitten saw him buck ass naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This always happens. Things get wildly out of control. I hope y’all don’t mind.
> 
> Also, I should stop tormenting Makoto. Poor guy, his heart can only take so much…
> 
> Final note: Okay, so usually, I have large swaths of chapters planned out/rough drafted (about two chapters in advance and then spend an innumerable amount of time refining and proofing and editing before finally posting) but this fic has now caught up to where I am in real time. So, apologies if updates are even fewer and farther in between. Thank you in advance for being patient with me.


	16. You Voluntarily Spoke to One of Your Neighbors?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pauses and does a double take. Wait… The way Makoto asked him that certainly sounds like…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves timidly* H-Hi… Is anyone still here? I want to start off with my deepest apologies that I’ve left you waiting for so long. I am so, so, so, _so_ sorry! Certain external forces took over my life (that still has its hooks in me) that I can’t (nor want to) claw out of (because it’s one of the few things that brings me joy nowadays). Things that make my cold, cynical heart all warm and soft and squishy. 
> 
> I haven’t touched this story in months—I know, I’m terrible. Again, I apologize. But I haven’t abandoned this and I _am_ trying to get back into the swing of things; it’s just… slow going. Like, really, _really_ slow going. A big thank you to everyone who stopped by and dropped a comment, some love, or encouragement during my absence! It hasn’t gone unnoticed and it’s deeply appreciated. 
> 
> So here’s the new chapter! I hope you remember what happened the last time we visited these two. If not, well, there’s always the option of re-reading it! ;D

Quietly slipping into the apartment, Haruka deposits his duffle bag on the genkan. He shrugs out of his coat, shaking off the last remaining bits of snow, and hangs it (and his scarf) on the hook by the door before easing his boots off his feet. He isn’t supposed to be here; he was supposed to meet Makoto at his campus in an hour but practice ended early on the account of his coach leaving for an extended break. 

So instead of waiting around on campus and doing nothing, he decided to swing by Makoto’s. It’s an additional hour to spend with Makoto he otherwise wouldn’t have. Especially considering the severe lack of face time this past week with school and finals getting in the way. 

He steps further into the quiet apartment, concerned with the lack of activity that usually accompanies his energetic boyfriend. But when he finds him, he shakes his head fondly. The week must have taken its toll on him; Makoto is passed out on the floor, tucked cozily underneath the kotatsu. 

The kotatsu was a gift from Haruka’s mother. Sort of a graduation/congratulations/apartment warming/thank-you-for-being-there-for-our-son-all-these-years gift. Makoto was extremely appreciative of the gift. Especially during his first Tokyo winter. This year wasn’t the first time this building has run into heating issues.

Maybe Makoto really should just move in with him. He spends most of his time at his apartment anyway. And he absolutely would not object to spending more time with Makoto. Actually, he kind of enjoys the idea of sharing a living space with his best-slash-boyfriend. It’s something they should definitely talk about in a serious manner. He never thought he’d ever entertain the idea of domesticity but here he is. Makoto once again throwing everything into disarray.

With the long and tiring practice behind him, he decides that a well deserved nap is in order. Besides, the way Makoto is laid out seems rather inviting. Haruka throws off his hoodie and slides under the warmth, snuggling against Makoto. He smiles when Makoto unconsciously reaches for him, curling into him. He falls asleep in no time and this is definitely better than waiting around and doing nothing. 

When he wakes up, it’s dark. The sun had set some time ago and the bright lights of the Tokyo night bathes the small apartment with a soft glow. The apartment is quiet except for the leaky kitchen faucet with its steady rhythm of drip, drip, drip. Makoto is also awake, his fingers gently combing through his hair. Haruka hums and snuggles deeper into his pillow.

“Sorry,” Makoto murmurs, chastely kissing him behind his ear, “did I wake you?” 

Haruka rolls over, curling his arm over Makoto’s midsection, and sighs contently. “No.” He looks up, brushing a quick kiss on his chin, “Have you been awake long?” 

“Mm,” Makoto’s hum vibrates in his chest, “maybe 15 minutes?” His hand slides down his spine, encouraging Haruka to wriggle closer. “I like waking up next to you.” Haruka arches a curious eyebrow and Makoto chuckles, correcting himself, “I mean, I like waking up with you in my arms. But I thought I was meeting you at the aquatic center?” 

“They let us go early,” Haruka says but elaborates at Makoto’s head tilt, “Coach Nomo’s daughter is graduating and he wanted to spend time with her before she leaves for university.” 

“Aww, that’s nice,” Makoto coos. 

To say Makoto is sentimental would be an understatement but he really is sentimental. Of course he would coo over something as trivial as that. Haruka, however, fails to see the appeal. 

He frowns, looking away glumly as he grumbles, “Not really. The pool is off limits in the meantime but we still have to keep up with our land training.”  

“Aw, I’m sorry,” Makoto offers with a tiny laugh. 

Haruka gives him a sidelong look, glaring at him warily, “Are you making fun of me?” 

Makoto squeezes a shoulder, “I would never.” 

Haruka doesn’t believe him. There’s at least some small part of Makoto that is teasing him. “See if I’ll make you any dinner tonight…” he grumbles spitefully. 

Makoto isn’t fazed though. Instead, he outright laughs, his shoulders shaking with boisterous laughter. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t mean to laugh.” A blinding smile suddenly erupts on his face, noticeable even in the darkened living room. “You don’t have to cook tonight. How about I take you out to dinner? We can go to that ramen shop we like.” 

It is something that is definitely tempting. Having a day off from cooking and having that spicy miso mackerel ramen that he has yet to successfully replicate in his own kitchen sounds divine. He pauses and does a double take. Wait… The way Makoto asked him that certainly sounds like… 

“Is this a date?” Haruka asks suspiciously, his breath catching on his throat. 

Makoto grins widely, not bothering with a denial. “Yes, I’m asking you out on a date. We haven’t done that yet. Well, not _officially_ , anyway. So yes, I want to go out on a date. With my boyfriend.” 

Haruka flinches. Makoto talks too much. Why does he feel the need to keep elaborating on things that don’t need to be elaborated on? He needs to learn cut out all those unnecessary words. He’s also doing this on purpose, calling him _boyfriend_  as often as humanly possible in order to get a reaction out of him and making him all… flustered. Which is not something he appreciates from his supposed boyfriend. 

“Idiot,” Haruka hisses at him. Which is the wrong thing to say because Makoto’s big, dumb grin only grows wider and more amused. 

Makoto laughs, his teeth gleaming deviously under the low glow of the street lights. “Come on, I need to fulfill my boyfriendly duties and take my boyfriend out for a date.” 

“I don’t think I want to be boyfriends with you anymore,” he scowls in irritation.

Makoto shifts, propping himself up on his elbow as he hovers over Haruka. “Liar.” He flips the blanket and pops to his feet, “Come on,” he offers his hand and Haruka lets him help him to his feet, “if we go now, we can get there before it closes.” 

“Some date,” Haruka grumbles, smoothing out his frumpy sweats, “I’m still in my gym clothes.” 

Makoto gives him a peck, quick and chaste but the warmth lingers on his lips. “We’ll have a fancy date next time, I promise.” 

“That’s not what I me-!” Haruka starts but is cut off when Makoto pulls him into his arms for a fuller kiss. Full and passionate with heat and adoration with a playfulness that he has no choice but to melt into him. 

* * *

They make it to the ramen shop an hour before closing. They’re seated immediately in the corner and Haruka orders his usual spicy miso ramen with mackerel. Makoto ultimately chooses the shoyu ramen after debating between that and tsukemen. 

Their conversation jumps from topic to topic but it eventually settles on the twins. Makoto had Skyped them earlier that day, updating their older brother of all the happenings in their lives. He sighs forlornly, he still can’t believe that they’re in middle school now. “Do you remember when we were their age?”

Haruka gently blows the steam from his soup spoon as he murmurs, “You are one step away from screaming ‘get off my lawn’ at the neighborhood teenagers, Makoto.”

Makoto clicks his tongue, pouting into his ramen, “Don’t tease. I’m being serious. Everything was like life or death back then. A lot of stuff happens at that age. It was so overwhelming.”

“They’ll be fine,” Haruka assured him as best he could. “You came out fine.” 

Twirling the noodles around his chopstick, Makoto sits up straight. “I had you.” 

Haruka looks away guiltily. “I wasn’t really all that great of a friend back then,” he murmurs regretfully. 

Makoto shakes his head in disagreement, “You’re wrong. You were there when I needed you. Even if you didn’t know I needed you. Even when _I_ didn’t know I needed you.” 

Haruka chews the inside of his cheeks, “Do you…” he takes a breath before continuing, “do you wish you had more of a childhood?” 

With a cocked head, Makoto furrows his brow, “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I was pretty angst-y for a good few years after…” he trails off quietly. “We didn’t do what kids usually do at that age.” 

A small, nostalgic smile curls over Makoto’s lips, “I don’t regret a single thing. I got to spend it with my best friend. Besides, it’s what made me, me and you, you.” 

Haruka wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything in the world either. He truly appreciates Makoto’s unending patience and understanding nature. He’s had to put up with a lot of his surly moods, tight-lippedness, and casual bluntness that would turn most people off. 

“Speaking of…” Makoto starts, swallowing a mouthful of noodles, “since the pool is off limits, what do you think about maybe visiting Iwatobi for a week or two?”

Haruka arches a dark brow,“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Makoto’s head bobs in time with his Adam's apple, “I mean, it’s been a while since you’ve been home and I haven’t been back in over a year. With winter break and all, I thought it would be nice. And the twins miss you.” 

“Last minute airfare will be expensive though,” he warns with a frown.  

Makoto’s lips pucker before a solution comes to him. “We can take the train!” 

Haruka purses his lips, not really convinced that that’s a better plan, “And spend all day traveling?” 

Shaking his head, Makoto laughs, “Don’t think about it like that. We can make an adventure out of it! Like, make little pit stops. Explore the rest of Japan, you know?” 

He still isn’t convinced of what is essentially a road trip. “We’d have to stay at inns and stuff.” That may add up to being even more expensive than last minute airfare.

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy; just enough to stay a night and go sightseeing during the day.” His excitement seems to wane as Makoto picks his noodles with the chopsticks, averting his eyes self-consciously. “Anyway, it’s just a thought,” he mumbles lowly.

Haruka isn’t adverse to going back to Iwatobi for a visit. The sightseeing stuff he can take it or leave it but Makoto sounded and looked so enthused over the prospect that he didn’t have it in him to reject the idea. He just has to remind himself that Japan is more than just Iwatobi and Tokyo. 

“I suppose we could visit a hot spring or two along the way,” he murmurs, bumping their knees together. 

Makoto’s head snaps up, “Really?” 

He nods, feeling a smile tugging at his lips, “We were going to stargaze in Iwatobi, remember?” 

“Haru!” Haruka squeaks in surprise; Makoto leans over the table and uses his entire body to hug him, effectively smothering him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Haruka allows it to go on for approximately seven seconds before pushing him away. “That’s enough, Makoto,” he grumbles with a frown. He smooths out his hair, having been disturbed by Makoto’s hug. “Don’t make me regret agreeing to this.”

Makoto bites his lip sheepishly, “Sorry.”

As they finish their dinner, they talk about all the things they want to do when they get back to Iwatobi. They would have stayed longer, their conversation nowhere near finished, but the owners eventually chase them out, telling them that this isn’t a bar and that they need to go home too. 

Makoto swings their joined hands back and forth, a cheesy grin permanently plastered on his face, “Come on, I’ll drop you off.”

“Oh,” Haruka frowns with dismay. He planned on staying with Makoto for some alone time. “I thought I’d just stay at your place.” 

He perks up at that, quickly changing directions at the plan. “Really? With my small bed and all?” 

“I didn’t mind it,” Haruka mumbles into his scarf. 

Makoto bumps his shoulder, concern lacing his question, “What about Saba?” 

He shrugs nonchalantly. He’s already thought about this. “I’ve arranged for her to stay at a neighbor’s.” 

Makoto abruptly stops dead in his tracks, surprise lighting his eyes. “You… you voluntarily spoke to one of your neighbors?” 

He punches Makoto in the arm. “Don’t be rude.” 

“Sorry,” Makoto winces, rubbing the sore spot with a pout, “It’s just… really unexpected. I didn’t even think you’d know their names much less ask them for a favor.”

“ _You_ do,” Haruka points out stubbornly. 

“Yeah,” he nods in agreement, “but I’m… me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have this habit of introducing myself to everyone. You’re… not so much like that.”

Despite the truthfulness of the statement, Haruka couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. “Yeah, well, I introduced myself.” He hesitates before admitting, “A few days ago.” At Makoto’s unimpressed eyebrow raise, he grumbles, “It was long overdue, but I know their names now.” Well, one of them anyway. But he’ll keep that bit of knowledge to himself.

Makoto shakes his head, chuckling, “I’m glad.” They proceed to the station when Makoto asks, “Are you sure about staying with me tonight?” 

He expels a long breath, “Do you not want me to?” 

“Of course I want you to! I’d really like that. It’s just,” Makoto pinches his lips sheepishly, “I know my place can get a little cramped and claustrophobic sometimes.” 

“It’s fine,” Haruka bristles, “I don’t mind it.” 

Makoto gives him a look of disbelief, “Are you sure? I distinctly remember you calling it a death trap once…”

Haruka tsks at him, he really doesn’t like it when Makoto uses his own words against him, and tugs him along, “Let’s just go.”

* * *

Back at Makoto’s apartment, they huddle under the kotatsu as they start planning their Iwatobi trip. They make a list of possible stops they could make along the way and the things they’ll do at each city. They have nothing concrete but at least they have a working outline. 

Haruka leans over to look at the screen. It’s a list of potential inns. “That place looks shady.”

“A little bit,” he agrees. Makoto clicks his tongue at him, “Haru, you’re dripping all over!” he complains as he wipes his screen, leaving an unsightly streak across the LCD. 

Haruka took a shower after returning from dinner, a towel draped over his head. He watches Makoto click through a few more inns as he dries his hair, but Haruka grows restless after Makoto evaluates a fourth one. He closes Makoto’s laptop emphatically and pushes it to the side. 

Makoto frowns. “Haru… I was looking at stuff.” 

He exhales roughly, keeping the laptop just out of Makoto’s reach. “Boring. We’ve been at this for long enough.” 

Makoto sighs and explains patiently, “Well, a big trip like this takes planning and—” 

“Bore. Ring.” Haruka slides into Makoto lap, his towel slipping off his shoulders. He tosses onto the couch before it could land on the floor. 

“Haru…” Makoto whines, his tone somehow amused and admonishing. 

Haruka cuts him off, “I want to kiss you.” 

Makoto licks his lips and chuckles with a broad grin, “I want to kiss you too.” 

Haruka tries not to show it, but he can’t quite stop the giddiness from bubbling up. Makoto’s grin slowly morphs into a smirk and whatever words he wanted to say dies in his mouth when Haruka kisses him — hard. Makoto has the tendency of saying embarrassing things and planting one on him seems like the quickest way to stop him. Makoto doesn’t seem to object, returning his kiss with equal fervor, his hands slipping under his shirt. 

Eventually, the shirt disappears along with Makoto’s. Makoto keeps one arm curled around his back as the other snakes between their bodies, unfastening his jeans one-handed. His own sweatpants tighten uncomfortably, his growing arousal stretching the cotton to its limits. 

With his absurdly ridiculous strength, Makoto lifts him up, settling him atop the kotatsu. Haruka leans back, propping himself up on his hands and lifts his hips as Makoto slowly drags his sweats down his legs. Tossing them carelessly off to the side, Makoto slides in between his legs. Leaning over him, he captures Haruka’s lips in a soft kiss. 

“Haru,” Makoto murmurs, nuzzling his nose along his jaw. “I want… may I use my mouth on you?” 

The breath he was in the middle of taking catches in his throat, a quiet moan escaping instead. His thoughts instantly flashing back to last week when he had Makoto in his mouth. Despite his initial reservations, he quite liked it; he enjoyed the weight of Makoto’s cock and the feel of his pulse thrumming against his tongue. He liked the feeling of his lips stretching to accommodate his girth. And how Makoto had peered down at him, eyes dark and hooded, long lashes fluttering as he struggled to keep them open. All the delightful (albeit muffled) noises that spilled from his mouth; the way Makoto cradled the back of his head and tugged at his hair; how his hips stuttered under his curious fingers. He even enjoyed the taste of him even though it was a bit too tangy and metallic. He only hopes he can inspire the same feelings in Makoto.

He’s impressed that Makoto was able to say that without stuttering though. “Do what you want,” Haruka swallows roughly. 

Makoto grins against his cheek and kisses him again. He gently lowers Haruka onto his back. The heat from the kotatsu combined with Makoto’s weight makes him feverish. Still, he wraps his arms and legs around him, wanting to maintain as much skin to skin contact with Makoto for as long as possible. 

Somewhere along the way, Makoto coaxes him to loosen his grip, allowing him to inch down his body, one teasing kiss at a time. Haruka licks his lips and tilts his head back, offering himself to Makoto. And Makoto takes everything he gives, his wet tongue and warm lips laps and brushes down his neck, sucking on his pulse and nibbling along his clavicles. His hands map out his toned chest and torso, fingertips dipping into grooves of his abdomen and blunt nails raking teasingly over nipples and muscles. 

It’s torturous. Makoto takes his time to acquaint his mouth and hands and _tongue_ with his body. Spending an inordinate amount of time on each patch of flesh that he comes in contact with. Haruka feels his heart hammering against his ribs so hard and fast that he isn’t sure if his chest will be able to contain it. He’s unable to stay still, wriggling and bucking and arching wildly against Makoto each and every time he finds a new place to lick and suck. 

Makoto’s teeth eventually catches one of his nipples. Already hardened from the attention his fingers paid them, he flicks it with his pointed tongue. Haruka tries to bite back a moan but it escapes in a broken shudder anyway. Makoto wraps his lips around the erect nub and sucks, curling his tongue around it and pulling it into his mouth. He only switches to the other nipple when he deems it’s swollen enough. 

Haruka flops back, the tension in his limbs unraveling, and willingly surrendering to Makoto, allowing him to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from him. Blunt teeth drag over his abdomen, the muscles there clenching and flexing with anticipation as he draws closer and closer to his groin. For the most part, Makoto had done an astonishingly good job of avoiding his cock, pinning his hips against the kotatsu with his hands. Bucking against him does nothing to encourage Makoto to work faster. 

Makoto nips at his stomach, just above the waistband of his boxers, tongue tracing the edge of the cotton. But instead of taking the damn thing off, Makoto diverts his attentions lower, his nose nudging at the very prominent bulge. Haruka throws his head back with a gasp, the muted sensation doesn’t make it feel any less incredible. 

“Makoto,” Haruka chokes. 

“Hmm?” Makoto hums, his tongue gliding over the seam of the opening. 

His tongue struggles to form the correct words, “N-No more teasing.” 

“Turnabout is fair play,” Makoto counters, his mouth taking as much of his clothed cock as the fabric allows. “I’m simply returning the favor.” Makoto continues his exploration of his dick through his boxers. 

“Makoto,” he growls in warning. 

Makoto huffs at being rushed but as Haruka predicted, he ultimately gives in. His teeth latches onto the elastic band and tugs his underwear down his shaking legs. Gently, Makoto parts his legs, pressing absurdly wet kisses on the inside of his thighs, and pulling them over his shoulders. 

Haruka gasps. His skin feels like it’s actually on fire, threatening to consume him. Makoto’s touch leaves a scorching trail at even the softest of touches. His tongue laps closer and closer to his erection, teeth nibbling along the way. One hand rests at his hip, Makoto rubbing it soothingly. He cups him with the other, pressing his warm, flushed cheeks against his cock. 

“Haru,” he murmurs as he kisses his hard-on. 

Haruka moans his name, his pulse pounding so hard and so fast, making him so dizzy that he’s incredibly grateful to be lying down. Blood and adrenaline pumping and thumping in his ears and chest and behind his eyes. His fingers clench at the blanket, tangling in Makoto’s hair, curling over the edge of the kotatsu—anything and everything he can get his hands on. 

Makoto grips him in a tight fist, jerking him from root to tip, milking a rivet of precome to dribble over his fingers. On his way back down, he makes sure to pull his foreskin back, exposing the smooth belled head, and squeezing another warm gush of precome from his slit. Makoto’s lips closes around him, taking the tip in his mouth and gently sucking away the sticky fluids. 

Haruka groans, low and deep from his core. Everything is so hot. So wet. So tight. He teeters on the verge of losing all semblance of conscious thought and sanity. The fine hairs on his arms stand on end, his skin prickles as sweat trickles from his pores, making everything hot and sticky. He briefly wonders if _this_ is what Makoto felt when he went down on him. He can feel Makoto’s jaw slowly working on taking him deeper, his tongue rolling, coiling, rubbing and sweeping over the leaking head. 

Haruka cries out sharply when Makoto pulls off, bucking his hips in hopes of recapturing the wet warmth. It only serves to make Makoto laugh quietly against his hip. 

“Ma…koto,” Haruka whines weakly, pawing at his hair for more.

Makoto rests his cheek against his thigh, “I’m here,” he sighs.

Haruka gasps, the air turns thick and stifling with heavy humidity when he tries to inhale, his legs kicking out in surprise. The hulking idiot decided it was a good idea to lick and nuzzle his balls. 

He yelps in shock. “Makoto, you…” 

Makoto laughs. The vibrations surging up his cock and tingling in his gut. “I think you liked that, Haru-chan.” 

If he had the strength to move his arms, he’d smack his boyfriend for being so incredibly rude. “S-shut up.” 

Makoto then proceeds to take his sack into the warm cavern, one at a time, humming as he does so. He licks and suckles at them gently, lavishing them with single-minded attention. After what felt like an eternity, Makoto returns to his cock, now raging with more blood and hormones, cloudy drops of precome rolling down his length unencumbered. Makoto licks away the milky trail and seals his lips around the crown when he makes it to the tip. He can feel Makoto breathing through his nose, his breath fanning over his groin as he slowly takes him deeper, cognizant of Haruka’s increasingly erratic movements and careful of not triggering his gag reflex. 

Haruka tries not to thrust too hard but the tongue and the sucking and the _humming_ makes it untenable. So Makoto grabs his thighs, holding them apart as he bobs his head on his lap. His tongue dips under his foreskin, rubbing the smooth head, and then swiping at the slit before swallowing down his cock. Makoto repeats this several times; alternating between pulling back to suckle and gently lap the head and diving back down to take his length deep into his hot, wet mouth. 

It continues like this until Makoto glides one hand up to caress his hips and thighs, and with the other, cradle his balls in his large, warm hand. The heat in Haruka’s stomach turns white hot and he comes without warning; a strangled, broken gasp of Makoto’s name falling through his dry lips. Haruka’s head lolls against the kotatsu, the waning adrenaline leaving him tired and lifeless. 

Makoto crawls up, brandishing kisses along the way until his body is pressed warmly against his own. He nips at his sharp chin and up his jawline. “Haru,” he purrs, “may I kiss you?” 

Haruka turns to him, Makoto’s lips red, puffy, and shiny. Immediately, he could tell. “You didn’t have to swallow,” he mutters, his voice gruff and raw. 

Makoto offers a lopsided grin and a giggle, “I wanted to. Wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I kinda like the way you taste.” 

Haruka snorts, he’s too exhausted to be embarrassed. “Sorry I didn’t warn you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Makoto grins. “It surprised me but I didn’t mind it.”

Haruka sighs, arching his back and relishing in the stretch in his muscles. “Kiss me.” 

It’s gentle and deliberate, all soft moans and airy sighs. He whines when Makoto pulls away but pushes himself into a seated position, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness. “Your turn,” Haruka murmurs still breathless.

“Oh. Uh,” Makoto stutters inelegantly, “you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Makoto.” Haruka narrows his eyes at him. If Makoto is being all self-sacrificing again, he will smother him. 

“No, I mean,” Makoto raises his hand with a wince and sheepish smile. It’s covered in a cloudy, thick goop. “You _really_ don’t have to.” 

Haruka can feel his heart stop momentarily before resuming. “Oh. You…” he leaves the sentence hanging in the air. His heartbeat is in his ears and heat stirs in his gut again. Because apparently, Makoto got off on sucking him off. It knocks him off his feet because according to various conversations he has overheard throughout campus, it was a bit of a tossup on whether or not the giver of blowjobs enjoyed the act as much as the receiver. Haruka found that he belongs in the former and it seemed like Makoto does too. Because, again, _Makoto got off on sucking him off_. 

“Yeah, so…” 

Haruka bites his lip, trying to refrain from laughing. “Did you get it all over the blanket?” 

Makoto scowls indignantly, “S-shut up.”

Haruka really laughs then. Makoto grumbles under his breath about rude boyfriends with a pout. Makoto takes his discarded towel and carefully cleans them up as best he can before helping him up. His legs feel like jelly and he would have face planted if he hadn’t been leaning against Makoto. 

Makoto tucks himself back in his jeans but Haruka isn’t quite ready to have their night end there. “Let’s go to bed.”

Green eyes widen in alarm, “Haru…”

“We don’t have to do anything. Just make out a little.” Haruka would be more than satisfied with that. He just wants to be with Makoto. 

“Yeah?” 

Haruka shrugs, that’s not all he wants out of this exchange, “And maybe some naked cuddling.” 

Makoto squeals with glee, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Who knew you’d like to cuddle so much?” 

“Only with you,” he answers honestly, “And only as long as we’re naked.” 

Makoto flushes, his face a rosy pink as he stutters incoherently and hides behind his large hands. It’s charming and endearing and in that moment, he decides that Makoto is dangerous. The reactions and feelings he stirs up in him are dangerous. His mere presence is dangerous. 

Makoto peeks out from under his long fringe, his smile lopsided, “You… you’re dangerous, Haru-chan.” 

His lower lip juts out, almost but not quite resembling a pout, “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.” Haruka leans up and into Makoto to kiss his lips. He hasn’t quite gotten his feet under him yet but he pushes forward on shaky legs but Makoto is quick to his side. “I’m fine. I can walk on my own,” Haruka mutters, lightly swatting Makoto on the chest. 

Haruka stumbles toward the bedroom. Even with his wobbly noodle legs, he makes it into the bedroom in one piece after some initial struggles. As he stumbles in, he flicks on the space heater. He had gotten it for Makoto when he returned to his apartment after the repairs were done. Just in case of another boiler and heater-related catastrophe. 

Makoto sits on the edge of the bed, pulling off his socks, and tossing it off to the side. Haruka approaches, stopping in front of him, and tugs at his collar. “Take your clothes off.”

Makoto looks up, his brow furrowed in confusion, “Ha? Wait, you… you weren’t joking about the naked cuddling?” 

Haruka tilts his head, confusion glittering over his eyes, “Why would I joke about that?”  

“But Haru,” he whines.

“I’m naked,” Haruka reminds him, gesturing to himself. 

Makoto gapes at him in incredulity, “You don’t have to be! You can put on some clothes!” 

Haruka thinks about it briefly but ultimately shrugs, “Don’t want to.”

He slides into Makoto’s lap. After easing his shirt off, he pushes Makoto onto the sheets and begins to fiddle at the stubborn button of Makoto’s jeans. With a flick of his wrist, the button finally pops free and after some maneuvering, he pushes both his jeans and boxers down his legs. Haruka crawls back up, dragging his fingertips over the long, lean lines of his muscles. He pulls the comforter out from under Makoto and drapes it over them, snuggling into his broad chest and wrapping his arms around Makoto. 

Makoto settles against the mattress, pulling Haruka against him, the narrow bed providing the perfect pretext for getting even closer. Haruka throws his leg over Makoto’s hip, curling his slender calf around his back and resting it against his ass. He twitches when his soft cock brushes at Makoto’s, still sensitive and tingling from their earlier activities. Haruka moves again, trying to find the optimal position for the most contact. 

Makoto groans, burying his face into Haruka’s neck. “ _Haru_ …” 

Haruka stretches against Makoto’s sturdy body, “Hm?” 

“Stop…” he stutters, his voice squeaky and choked, “ _wriggling_.” 

Haruka curls his arms and legs around him, similar to the way Saba rubs herself against Makoto whenever she greets him at the door. “But why?” 

The pitch of his voice changes yet again as Makoto nearly shrieks, “You know why!” 

That’s not inaccurate, he does know. It’s just… Makoto makes it so easy to tease him. “But I don’t want to.” 

He gives Haruka a nasally whine, and if he could, Makoto would have probably stomped his foot in petulance. “But we just…” 

Haruka trails his fingertips over the long length of his back, his nails lightly scoring faint lines of goosebumps across his shoulders. “So what?” 

Makoto gently squeezes his bare hip as Haruka kisses his neck and chin. “Haru,” the huffy whine returns, “you’re making this very hard.” 

 _So easy_ , Haruka grins internally. He wedges his thigh between Makoto’s legs and flexes, brushing against Makoto’s stiff cock. “I’ve noticed…” 

Instead of the sputtering he was half expecting, Makoto surprises him with a bark of laughter and a snort of amusement. “You’re terrible.” He chuckles, so low and deep that it resonates in his bones but then he sighs, “We don’t have to do anything else, Haru. We can just cuddle and go to sleep.”

The suggestion certainly has its appeals. But then again, so does option number two. “You can sleep with your dick like that?” 

A pleased hum rattles in his chest as Makoto nuzzles his cheek. “It’ll go away on its own.” 

Haruka scoffs, throwing a disbelieving eyebrow at him for good measure, “You sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” he insists.

“But I didn’t get you off,” Haruka all but whines.

Makoto chuckles, deep in his chest, “Trust me when I say, you did more than enough to get me off. And as tempting as a second time is, I think we’ve enough excitement for one night.”

He doesn’t quite agree with that assessment but he isn’t going to push any further if Makoto doesn’t want to. “Can we still sleep naked?”

“You’ll get cold, Haru-chan,” he points out, his tone slightly admonishing.

Haruka shifts, snuggling deeper into Makoto’s chest. He sighs, “No. You’re always warm.”

The apples of Makoto’s cheeks redden, “Fine. But let me tuck us in properly.”

The bed dips as he fusses over the comforter and pillows but Makoto’s quiet warm settles behind him, his steady breath fanning over the nape of his neck, lulling him into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway, I just really wanted Makoto to suck Haru off on the kotatsu, okay?


	17. You Promised Me, Remember?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he should absolutely, _definitely_ shut that down immediately because that is _not_ a habit he wants Haruka to pick up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Kind of. Well, at least for one chapter.
> 
> But it's okay because Free! is back, y'all!
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!

The quick jog up the stairs leaves him gasping and out of breath. He tries to convince himself that it was because the cold has sapped him of his energy but he knows better than to actually believe that. Instead, he tries to pinpoint exactly when his endurance went to complete shit. It’s not as if he completely let himself go. Far from it, he still visits the pool whenever he can but admittedly, he doesn’t get to go as often as he’d like. As he gets deeper and deeper into his coursework, spare time is at a premium. Spare time he’d much rather spend with Haruka. However, being foiled by a couple of flights of stairs is not an acceptable outcome in any universe. So yeah, he really, definitely needs to get back into shape. Perhaps he’ll take Haruka up on his offer and go on those morning jogs with him. 

Something about two birds, one stone, or whatever the saying is.

He rings the bell and waits a few moments, rocking on his heels, before reaching for the doorknob as he does every morning. But in an unusual turn of events, the door swings wide open. It throws him completely off balance, stumbling forward, and nearly crashing into Haruka. 

After righting himself, he takes note of Haruka standing at the doorway wearing a pair of old sweatpants (complete with holes), and an even older T-shirt. From the looks of it, it’s at least five years old. The creamy yellow shirt is faded and it barely even fits him: the fraying hem rides up, exposing a sliver of his midsection, and the thinning and balding cotton treads stretched taut over his chest and shoulders.

He checks his watch for the time. 7:36 AM. He looks up at Haruka again, tilting his head. “You’re… not in the bath,” he questions cautiously, almost suspiciously. 

With a twitch of the lips, Haruka’s eyes narrow in annoyance. With his hands on his hips, he taps his foot impatiently. “You’re late.”

Haruka pulls him into the apartment with a jerk and Makoto squeaks in surprise as he trips over his feet. The door slams shut, making him flinch, but he still manages to grumble, “By, like, six minutes!”

With a huff, Haruka properly chastises him, “I had to drag myself out of the bath and now, I’m behind.”

Shrugging out of his coat, he gapes at his boyfriend. God forbid Haruka get out of the bath of his own volition or without Makoto’s assistance. “You are allowed to get yourself out of the bath, Haru-chan. That’s what most people do.” At Haruka’s frown, Makoto instead asks, “Behind on what, Haru?” He’s extremely confused. What exactly is he late for? Did he forget that they made plans for something? Has he been a bad boyfriend? Did he miss a message from Haruka? He quickly checks his phone for any unread messages but finds nothing. He takes another confused look at Haruka’s state of dress. It’s not as if Haruka is in the habit of wearing formal wear, but he’s never been this… disheveled. “What are you wearing?”

“Cleaning.” That does nothing to clear up Makoto’s confusion. He can only blink blankly at Haruka. “My cleaning clothes,” Haruka adds unhelpfully.

Slipping out of his boots effortlessly, Makoto shuffles behind Haruka after snagging his pair of slippers. “Your cleaning clothes.” He repeats quizzically, as if saying it in a different tome would help him understand.

“Yes. And you’re going to help,” Haruka arches a dark brow.

This morning has not been kind to him but at least he finally understands what Haruka is getting at. Still, it’s not exactly the most exciting or riveting of activities. “With… taking _off_ your cleaning clothes?” Makoto asks, grinning hopefully.

Haruka’s face scrunches adorably, his nose turned up, eyes crinkled, and brow furrowed, as he glares at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Yeah, he didn’t think he’d be so lucky. He looks around and the apartment is pretty spotless, as usual, so what kind of cleaning is Haruka talking about? Makoto rocks back and forth on his heels, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “And what are we cleaning?”

Haruka motions vaguely at the apartment, “Everything.” At Makoto’s frown, Haruka explains, “It’s almost spring. I won’t be able to clean once classes and practice starts up again. And since we’re going to Iwatobi for an extended visit, this is the only time I’ll be able to do it.” He nods to the couch, “Help me move that.”

Makoto chews on his lip, contemplating, “Do I have to?”

“Makoto,” There’s a slight growl in Haruka’s impatient tone.

He whines. Like Ran and Ren used to when they were younger. He admits it. There’s really no other way to describe the warble in his throat, “I don’t really want to though…” Makoto gestures to the couch, “Can’t we just sit here and cuddle instead? You like that, right?”

With bated breath, Makoto bites his lip in anticipation. He can tell that Haruka actually contemplates it by the way his nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth twitches. He pleads to all the gods in existence (past and present) that Haruka will agree to the cuddling. It’s infinitely more appealing than spring cleaning.

Suddenly, he’s no longer on his feet. Haruka shoves him onto the couch and climbs on top of him — straddling him. And kisses him, _hard_. The unexpected kiss causes him to squeak but the sound is smothered between their lips.

“Tell you what,” Haruka murmurs against his lips, “if you help me clean,” Haruka lightly nibbles at his bottom lip, his voice growing deep and husky, “I’ll suck you off.”

Makoto chokes on his tongue, his heart stuttering in his chest. Tempting as the offer is, he doesn’t like the idea of Haruka weaponizing sex and he should absolutely, _definitely_ shut that down immediately because that is _not_ a habit he wants Haruka to pick up. He was going to help him clean regardless, despite his whining and complaints, so he isn’t about to turn down the offer. Still, he quickly disabuses Haruka of any misconception that he’s only agreeing to this on the promise of a blow job.

Haruka nods firmly, sliding off his lap, and brushes imaginary lint off his shirt. “I mean it, Haru! Don’t think that you can just say things like that just to get me to do things!”

“Of course not,” Haruka shakes his head solemnly, “Makoto would never do something so scandalous.”

“Well, I mean, I’m not…” He frowns, he isn’t a saint and the last thing he wants is to be put on a pedestal. It’s just… well, it’s just that he wouldn’t do something like _that_.

Haruka heaves a heavy sigh and pulls him to his feet, “Just help me and then you can decide whether or not you want the blow job.”

Despite wincing at Haruka’s usual bluntness, Makoto exhales noisily, relieved that Haruka understood what he was trying to say even as words failed him. Everyone tends to point out the fact that he’s able to decipher Haruka’s enigmatic words and silences but Haruka is just as adept at interpreting the things that Makoto doesn’t say.

Resigned to his fate, his shoulders slump and moves to help Haruka relocate the couch. They spend the rest of the morning and a fair chunk of the afternoon moving things around, dusting, sweeping, and mopping the entirety of the apartment. Even with Haruka’s impeccable cleanliness, quite a bit of dust accumulated over the course of the year. Granted, it’s not like Haruka has a whole lot of time in his schedule to do tedious chores like this on a frequent basis. Laundry is something he has issues fitting in during most weeks and he isn’t the prized swimmer on an elite university team so he can’t imagine Haruka being able to take the time (or muster up the required energy) to do more than the basic cleaning job.

Over the course those hours, he learned some rather interesting tidbits about Haruka that he hadn’t really thought too deeply about before. Like the fact that he’s rather anal retentive in regards to organization. He got quite the earful when he didn’t put things away to Haruka’s liking. Clothes are organized by type (long sleeve, short sleeve; T-shirt, button down) and then color coordinated (color family and then from dark to light). Recreational books, not that he has a lot of them in the first place, but the ones he does possess, are organized alphabetically by author and then by year of publication. Even utensils get the same treatment.

He knew Haruka was neat and organized (everything was always so easy to find both at Haruka’s childhood home and now, in his Tokyo apartment) but he didn’t realize just how deep it went. He wonders if this is some kind of OCD and if he should be worried. He dismisses quickly though as he has witnessed first hand that Haruka can be just as sloppy as anyone else when the right conditions are met.

With one final polish of the windows, he collapses in exhaustion face down onto the couch.

“Makoto,” Haruka admonishes, whacking him with a lemon scented rag, “You’re all gross and sweaty and we just cleaned that.”

“Sorry,” Makoto mumbles tiredly into the cushions, but he doesn’t move.

Impatient, Haruka huffs loudly, “Off,” Haruka swats at his feet.

Even the muscles in his face are exhausted, but Makoto pouts the best he can under the circumstances and rolls off, settling on the hardwood floors instead. “I’m so tired,” he turns his head tiredly toward Haruka, “You do this every spring?”

Haruka nods, folding the fleece throw blanket, “I used to help my grandmother every spring. Didn’t you help your mom?”

Makoto gives him a listless one-shoulder shrug, “Well, yeah, but they were simple things like putting away the winter blankets or airing out the futon. And then in high school, it was mostly, ‘Makoto, help me dust this and that; put this and that up there,’ you know, places she couldn’t reach. It was never anything like this.”

“Spoiled,” he hears Haruka mumble with a tease under his breath.

Makoto springs up, indignant with the accusation, “Hey! There are five of us! It’s not my fault mom divided up the work the way she did.”

He watches Haruka as he straighten out the cushions. Even when doing the most mundane, everyday things, Haruka is beautiful. There is this ease and elegance in the way he works, his movements graceful that is simply breathtaking. His affections for Haruka blooms with every passing second, warming his (already) warm heart.

He _really_ likes his boyfriend.

“Have you packed yet?” Haruka breaks his train of thought.

Grinning sheepishly, he admits, “Here and there.” He packed the essentials: underwear, sleepwear, and socks; he’s just missing  _actual_ clothes. “I need to do laundry for the rest. You?”

Shrugging, Haruka hums, “Almost. I’m just waiting for a few of my jammers to dry.”

Unable to stop himself, he snorts, “Jammers? Haru… Are you expecting to go swimming while we’re in Iwatobi?”

Haruka shoots him a flat look, _a duh, obviously_ , _what-do-you-take-me-for_ look. “Of course. You should pack yours too.”

Leaning his elbow on the kotatsu, Makoto cocks his head questioningly, even though he already knew the answer. He just likes hearing Haruka talk. “And where will we be swimming?”

Haruka confirms his thoughts, “At the swim club.”

Stifling his laughter, he shakes his head fondly. He really should have known better — nothing could keep Haruka from the water. “Haru…”

The glare Haruka gives him induces more laughter which leads to Haruka scowling at him, “What? The university pool is off limits.”

Haruka has been working hard, his practices and training even more grueling and intense than when Gou was at the helm. “You shouldn’t overtrain, Haru-chan.”

As Haruka straightens out the kotatsu, he shakes his head. “I’m not. Coach has us tapering while he’s away. I just want to float around.” Haruka levels him with a shy and coy look, “With you. You promised me, remember?”

That he did and he would never break a promise. Besides, leisurely swims with Haruka isn’t something he can refuse, especially since it’s been so long since they’re last done so. “I’ll pack my jammers.” He’ll take Haruka to the swim club everyday if that’s what Haruka wanted. It would all be worth it if that meant Haruka smiling at him. 

“Good,” Haruka turns his head away shyly. It is the most endearing thing ever and it takes everything in Makoto’s willpower to refrain from gathering him up in his arms and kissing him silly.

Speaking to Iwatobi… He works up the courage to broach the subject that’s been on his mind for a couple of days now. “Hey, Haru?”

“Hmm?” Haruka answers distractedly as he shoves stray rubbish into a giant black garbage bag.

“About Iwatobi, when we get back…” Makoto sits up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “Are we… are we telling people? About us dating, I mean.”

Haruka stops his movements, startled by the question. “Oh.” Haruka’s tongue flickers out, licking his lips in thought, “What do you want to do?”

Makoto purses his lips, his nose scrunching up in apprehension, “There’s gonna be a lot of fawning, isn’t there?”

He can already imagine it. He adores his friends, really, he does. He can’t ask for better friends than the ones he has. But even he can admit that they could be a bit _over_. As in overwhelming and overbearing and over the top. Especially Nagisa. Honestly, it’s mostly Nagisa. Nagisa could be so over to the point of embarrassing.

As if sensing that a real serious talk is in progress, Haruka kneels in front of Makoto, passing him a clean tissue for him to wipe his brow. “We should at least tell your parents,” Haruka declares with a firm brow.

Makoto nods in agreement. He was planning on doing so anyway, “Right, yeah. And yours too.”

Haruka gives him an indifferent shrug, “They’re away just now… Maybe when they get back from their trip.”

Makoto hums quietly, tangling his long fingers with Haruka’s slim ones. “I guess this isn’t something you can say over the phone.”

Haruka shakes his head slowly, expelling a loud breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, or at the very least, a chuckle, “Not really.”

With some trepidation, Makoto squeezes his hands, his brows furrowing with worry. It has been gnawing at him for days. He knows, deep in his heart, he knows that things will be okay. His parents never gave him the impression that they would love him any less but he still can’t stop the overwhelming anxiety from gripping him by the throat. It makes him want to throw up whenever he thinks too much about it. “You… Do you think they’ll be okay with us being… y’know, boyfriends?”

Haruka rubs tiny circles over his knuckles. He smiles at the unconscious gesture and it quells at least some of his anxiety.

Haruka sinks fully onto the floor, sitting cross legged, and sighs. “I think they love us. I think they know us. And I think they’ll accept us. And if, for some inexplicable reason they don’t, we’ll get through it. Just like we’ve gotten through everything else.”

Makoto curls his arms around Haruka’s waist, nuzzling into his neck for comfort, “I hope you’re right. I hope they’ll support us.”

Haruka combs through his hair, the pressure from his fingers comfortable and pleasant against his scalp. “They will,” he asserts confidently.

He sighs, Haruka’s reassuring words were all he needed to hear for that sinking feeling to dissipate into the ether. “What about our friends?”

With a nonchalant shrug, Haruka flippantly mumbles, “I’m sure they’ll be supportive. They better be. They don’t have a leg to stand on considering their life choices.”

Makoto snorts, that’s putting it mildly. Almost no one in their circle of friends leads what one would call, traditional lives. “No, I mean, about telling them about us.”

“Oh. Right,” Haruka frowns, annoyance evident in his face.

He squirms anxiously and elaborates, “I just… don’t like the idea of keeping it from our friends.”

The left corner of Haruka’s lip twitches as he thinks through the pros and cons of informing their friends about the change in their relationship status. “How about… If they ask, we’ll tell them the truth. But if they don’t…” Haruka leaves the rest of the thought hanging but Makoto can fill it in himself.

Makoto lets the idea roll around in his head, finding that it’s a good compromise. “So… don’t actively volunteer our relationship status?”

Haruka nods. “If they figure it out on their own,” he shrugs stoically, “they figure it out.”

Expecting nothing less from his boyfriend, Makoto smiles at Haruka’s no nonsense attitude and agrees. He doesn’t need to publicize the change in their relationship. It’s not hiding, it’s just trying to keep things manageable.

Leaning back on his arms, Makoto nudges Haruka’s knee with his foot, “Should we tell the twins?”

Haruka inhales deeply and presses back at him, “I think you should do what you and your family are comfortable with.”

Makoto slumps back, he had a feeling that would be Haruka’s take on the matter. The pragmatic answer doesn’t stop him from asking what he really wanted to know. “Do you think they’d understand?”

Haruka thinks. He can tell because Haruka’s big, blue eyes become impossibly bright under his long lashes. They flicker back and forth until finally, he’s satisfied with his answer. “They’re smart. We were their age when…” Haruka stops short, seemingly recalling that night at the pool all those years ago. Makoto flushes at the memory, his ears warming. It had been so innocent, so sincere. But in light of their relationship now, the confession holds even more weight now than it did back then. “Anyway, they’re smart.”

Swallowing roughly, he nods. It’s good enough to soothe his worries. The twins are smart and open-minded and most importantly, they love Haruka. “I’ll see what mom and dad thinks.”

Realizing they were done shuffling around for the day, Saba plops down into Haruka’s lap. Haruka indulges her by rubbing behind her ears. Tilting his head curiously, his eyes slowly rakes over his body, “So… the blow job. Do you want it?”

Makoto splutters, embarrassed at the sudden change of topic and the blunt way Haruka had asked it. And in front of Saba no less. “Haru!”

Unfazed, Haruka merely arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow, “Well?”

He feels himself pouting. How does Haruka get away with saying such things without a lick of shame? Then again, Haruka wouldn’t be Haruka if he did. “May-maybe later? I’m kind of tired right now.”

Lifting Saba off his lap, Haruka nods as she scurries onto the couch. Crawling over to Makoto, Haruka lies down next to him. “Later then.”

Makoto pushes Haruka’s hair back from his face, revealing his drowsy but no less stunning face. Their real serious talk must have taken a lot out of him. Honestly, it tired him out too.  “Maybe we shouldn’t be on the floor, Haru,” he murmurs quietly, his thumb gently stroking Haruka’s temple.

Haruka leans into his touch, sighing contently, “It’s fine. We just cleaned, remember?”

Shaking his head fondly, Makoto exhales sharply. Haruka looks as if he’s comfortably settling in and if that happens, he’ll never be able to Haruka off the floor until he’s good and ready. Determined to get them both out of these dusty, sweat-drenched clothes, he deploys his most reliable weapon: the opportunity to jump in the bath. “We should at least take a bath, Haru-chan. I’m sticky and itchy.”

Haruka cracks open an eye, the sliver of iridescent blue peeking out from under his thick, dark lashes. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

The trick is (in addition to the lure of the bath) is to make it seem like it’s for Makoto’s benefit instead of Haruka’s. It’s manipulative, yes, but he knows for a fact that Haruka does the same to him.

Haruka pushes himself off the floor, rolling his shoulders and stretching out the kinks in his neck. Again, he’s drawn by the way Haruka moves, all fluid grace and liquid gold. Haruka leads him to the bathroom, shedding the layers as he goes until he’s completely bare by the time he reaches the shower. Makoto stands there, entranced by his boyfriend’s slender but powerful body.

Looking over his shoulder, Haruka frowns at Makoto, standing at the doorway like a gaping idiot. “Didn’t you say you were sticky and itchy?” He jerks his head towards the shower head, “Hurry up and undress. I’ll scrub your back.”

Needing no additional prompting, Makoto quickly strips out of his clothes and settles behind Haruka. Reaching for the shampoo, Makoto washes Haruka’s dark locks. He presses his thumbs at the base of his skull, his long fingers massaging his scalp until Haruka releases a long, bone-rattling sigh.

The exhaustion from earlier melts away, replaced with a burning desire to pleasure Haruka until he’s a completely boneless and relaxed mess.

Pleasure of the non-sexual variety!

Of course, there’s no telling that to his stupid hormones as his groin begins to stir. His hormones always seems to rears it head at the most inopportune times. Makoto does his best to ignore his arousal in favor of helping Haruka rinse off. He carefully tips his head back, making sure that the soapy suds doesn’t get in his eyes.

Once done, he notices Haruka’s intensely quiet blue gaze on him. Makoto smiles and nods, allowing Haruka to lead him under the shower head — the hot, powerful spray pelting his sore muscles. For the most part, they silently work together, lathering the other up, but every so often, a gasp or a sigh echoes off the tiles at a fleeting touch here or a brush of the fingers there. The non-sexual pleasure Makoto was aiming for begins to feel decidedly… sexual. The combination of the heat from the shower, the low, husky murmurings from his shower partner, and the press of Haruka’s warm, wet body against his makes him dizzy.

As promised, Haruka helps him with his back, carefully kneading his shoulders until the knots melt away under his attentive hands. Curious fingers linger, skimming over his flesh; fingernails trail up and down his arms, marking him like a brand. Haruka presses up against him, his arms curling around his torso, hands sliding and caressing his chest and stomach. But the thing that makes him really shiver is the gentle kiss Haruka gives him between his shoulder blades.

“Makoto,” he breathes into his skin, the hypnotic silence finally broken. “I’m hard.” Makoto looks over his shoulder. He felt as much with the way Haruka is plastered on his back. Still, hearing it makes his own cock twitch in response. “And I’m hungry,” he mutters after a short pause.

He suppresses a laugh; he doesn’t think Haruka would appreciate it. “Wow? Hard _and_ hungry?” He repeats, surprised that he was able to keep his voice steady. Makoto cocks his head, there are so many inappropriate jokes he can make. Haruka is right, he does hang out with Sousuke too much. But he refrains from the inappropriate jokes and expresses his own hardness and hunger instead. “Now that I think about it, I am too.”

Haruka rests his chin on his shoulder, his fingers crawling over his chest and biceps, drawing random patterns over his wet skin. “How fortuitous,” his murmur so low that Makoto had to strain to hear it. 

Brushing his lips over Haruka’s temple; he murmurs back, “Indeed.”

Haruka traces a blunt fingernail along the throbbing vein on the underside of his dick. “I think I can help with at least one of those,” Haruka murmurs, his lips, wet against his ear.

Makoto’s tongue flickers out in anticipation. Not wanting to break the atmosphere, he slowly turns around and his eyes quickly dart down, “You said something about… you know?” he gestures inarticulately to his crotch.

Haruka arches a disbelieving eyebrow, “…You know?” He blinks owlishly, his face a living embodiment of incredulity.

Blinking back at him, Makoto stutters, “Ye-yeah.”

Sparkling eyes widen in amusement, a small dimple appearing on the corner of his mouth, “And what exactly does ‘ _you know,_ ’” Haruka cheekily air quotes, “entail?”

The gall of Haruka even asking that sends him spluttering and hissing in mortification, “You… You know what!”

Haruka shrugs nonchalantly, his head shaking in disagreement, “No, I don’t think I do.”

Stomping his foot, he petulantly whines, “Yes, you do!”

Amazingly, Haruka keeps his face blank but his eyes tell a different story. The multiple shades of blue twinkle mischievously, goading and challenging him. “No, I don’t. What do you want me to do?”

Makoto pouts, jutting his bottom lip as much as he can in hopes of mercy. “You’re really gonna make me say it aren’t you?”

This time, Haruka can’t stop the tiny smile from curling at the corner of his mouth. Most people would miss it, but Makoto isn’t most people. The blues in Haruka’s eyes grow even brighter, straight up gleaming at this point. “If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t do it1.”

“But I won’t be the one doing it. You will,” Makoto quickly retorts.

Knowing he has a point, Haruka nods nonchalantly, “And what am I doing?”

Smirking down at Haruka, he shoots back, “If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t do it.” Okay, he knows he shouldn’t be, but Makoto is definitely more than a little bit proud of being able to lob that particular rejoinder back at Haruka.

Knowing Makoto caught him at his own game, Haruka sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes narrowing playfully, “Oh you…”

“So?”

Makoto isn’t about to yield to Haruka on this. It’s silly, yes, but he’d rather not be goaded on into saying that he wants Haruka to suck his cock. _Again_. The first time left him with enough embarrassment to last several lifetimes, thank you very much.

Shaking his head, he huffs a short laugh. Haruka returns his smirk, bearing his teeth that sends a shiver down his spine. “Fine. _I’m_  going to suck _your_ cock.”

He really should have expected that because that’s what he gets for challenging Haruka in this manner and yet, it still catches him off guard. It knocks the breath out of him. “Haru,” Makoto breathes lowly. Haruka flicks his tongue, moving to drop to his knees but Makoto abruptly stops him. “Waitwaitwait, Haru.”

Immediately concerned, Haruka’s brows furrow, “What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head quickly to dispel any worries, Makoto explains, “Nothing’s wrong. I… I changed my mind. I want us to get off together.”

“Oh.” Haruka’s shoulders relax, the tension that coiled up at the urgency of Makoto’s voice leaving his body. “What did you have in mind?”

“Here,” he backs Haruka up against the shower wall, boxing him in with his chest. Makoto presses into Haruka’s slick and supple flesh, curling this long fingers around both their arousals. “I was hoping we could do this instead.”

Haruka thrusts against him, involuntarily, and a jolt of electricity strikes him at his core. Haruka melts into the tiles, murmuring nonsensical noises as he arches against Makoto. Their cocks slip and slide, over and under the other, pulling moans and gasps from them both.

“O-oh,” Haruka’s breath hitches, his chest expanding as he tries to catch his breath. “O-ok. That’s good—” Remembering the way Haruka likes to be touched, Makoto brushes his thumb over the smooth cock head. Haruka gasps, head thrown back against the slick tiles. “Oh, that’s really good. Makoto.”

He smiles, glad that he decided on this instead so that he can clearly see Haruka’s face. “Yeah?”

A tingle races down his spine when Haruka unexpectedly wraps his hand over Makoto’s and squeezes, increasing the pressure around their dicks. His long, thick lashes flutter with every sharp intake of breath, every stroke of their hands. Haruka groans deeply, “And what is ‘ _this_ ,’ exactly?”

He knows exactly what Haruka was fishing for but instead, Makoto shakes his head, chuckling in amusement, and kisses Haruka in hopes of convincing him to drop it.

He doesn’t succeed and he definitely turned a different shade of red when, after much cajoling, Haruka finally manages to get him to squeak, _mutual masturbation_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1ROFL, I have used this line a lot. I think I’ve used it _at least_ three times throughout my writing. But, hey, it’s true! Something, something, talk the talk and walk the walk, right?
> 
> OMG, I'm over 100k words? What is thisssss?
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, thank you for your feedback, and thanks for being so patient! I'll see you next time!


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